


i dare you (to stay)

by thewritershae



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Oral Sex, Peeta would be the perfect boyfriend just give him a chance, Slow Burn, Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, also so much self indulgent Finnick and Johanna content because I love them, in which everyone knows that Katniss is in love with Peeta except for Katniss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritershae/pseuds/thewritershae
Summary: The tingling sensation that persisted in every inch of my body that he had touched - and everywhere that I wished he had touched - led me to believe that maybe I had been wrong all those years. Maybe the fire was borne out of fervor rather than fury; of hunger rather than hatred. And all it took was a game of truth or dare, Johanna Mason, and a bottle of tequila to make me realize it.or,The only thing Katniss hated more than Peeta Mellark was New Year's Eve. Put the two together, and disaster was sure to ensue. At least, that's what she had always thought…
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Gale Hawthorne/Madge Undersee, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 143





	1. Katniss's POV

**Author's Note:**

> so this was supposed to be a short one shot but it ended up being a LOT longer than i thought it would (isn’t that how it always goes lol). anyway, if you're still in love with all of the hunger games characters as much as i am then this story is for you, i hope i do them justice and fulfill all of your everlark fantasies! 
> 
> also, if you're on tumblr feel free to say hi @thewritershae, i'll be posting updates, random drabbles & more over there as well :)

The idea of New Year’s Eve had never appealed to me. Parents snuck out to act like teenagers, teenagers snuck into their parent's liquor cabinets, and everyone made promises to themselves that they had no intention of keeping. The way I saw it, I'd experienced enough broken promises in my lifetime to ever celebrate a whole day rooted in them, so I tried my best to avoid the sorry excuse of a holiday at all costs.

For the better half of a decade I spent December 31st with my closest friends, Gale Hawthorne and Madge Undersee, who made the day somewhat more tolerable. Madge's father's mayoral status earned her parents an invitation to an exclusive legislators-only party in the Capitol each year, leaving their rather grandiose home open to our trio. We began the ritual of staying over at Madge's house on New Year's Eve back when we were in middle school. It was the first year we were deemed old enough to be trusted alone - although "alone" really just meant under the watchful eye of Madge's housekeepers rather than our parents. Since then, it had become our tradition to claim the Mayor's mansion as our own for the night, wearing our pajamas and eating an ungodly amount of chips and chocolate in every form imaginable until the sun came up. The three of us also made a point of not watching any of the obnoxious television specials filled with dazzling celebrities, flashy dance numbers, or that stupid sparkling ball that counted down to midnight. Our festivities were the very antithesis of all things New Year's and, above all else, our biggest rule was simple: no resolutions.

Madge and Gale understood why ringing in a new year with noise makers and champagne didn't sit right with me. The thought of celebrating another year of growing older, of leaving behind childhood innocence - _of leaving behind my father_ \- and assuming the responsibilities of adulthood made my outlook on life even more bleak than usual. What I needed was the ability to turn back the clocks, not congratulate them on spinning even faster. But the best I was going to get was a night of distractions with two people who knew me best and didn't judge me for it.

Well, that plus a night of eating a premium assortment of junk food.

I had spent the entire afternoon hand-selecting which snacks I planned on bringing to Madge's place later that night and was just was narrowing down my cheese-flavored chip selection between Doritos and Cheetos when the buzzing of my cell phone ripped my attention from my stash. As soon as I saw Madge's name on the notification my heart dropped, automatically assuming it was bad news.

The urge to throw my phone across the room after reading the three messages that had popped up on my screen confirmed my instincts.

_Madge: hey_

_Madge: my mom has another migraine so my parents decided to stay home tonight_

_Madge: i'm sorry :(_

That was her delicate way of telling me that our plans were called off. I sighed as I typed out my reply, deciding then was as good a time as any to break into my chocolate chip cookie collection. There would eventually come a day when I could no longer turn to food to solve all my problems, but I planned to keep eating until it arrived.

_Katniss: oh, that sucks. we could hang at my place instead?_

My mom would be working late at the hospital and Prim was planning on celebrating with her friend Rue, so technically my house would be available for us. It paled in comparison to Madge's mansion, but what my humble abode lacked in space it made up for in coziness. At least, that's what I told myself each time the Mayor's daughter made the trek across town to see me. Madge was far too considerate to ever mention it, but I couldn't help but notice the contrast between her pristine clothing and neatly combed hair versus my creaky floorboards and paint-chipped walls. Despite our drastic differences in upbringing, Madge and I found a quiet understanding in one another, and in many ways our friendship had helped to draw each other out of our shells.

_Madge: actually, Gale and I were thinking about going to Peeta Mellark's party..._

For the second time that evening I was tempted to launch my phone into the wall.

"Damn you, Gale," I cursed aloud to myself, knowing that the idea to attend the Mellark Brothers' party must have been his. While Madge and I were perfectly content with our quiet anti-celebration, Gale had been bugging us for weeks about wanting to attend at least one real New Year's party before he graduated high school. I had no problem with shutting down his requests, but ever since the two of them started dating a few months prior, Madge had begun siding with Gale over me more often. In truth, I suspected that Madge would have preferred to continue our secluded tradition, but I also knew she couldn't pass up her first opportunity to ring in the new year with a kiss at midnight. It's not like they couldn't kiss in front of me - I had been forced to witness their sappy romance on countless occasions - but I guessed there was something that made making out in a crowded sea of hormonal teenagers more appealing than swapping spit in a near-silent room with your best friend as your only audience member.

But of all parties to choose from, Gale had to pick _that_ one? _Peeta Mellark's_? The name alone sent a shiver down my spine. I had been sworn enemies with the baker's son ever since he made fun of me in front of our entire second grade choir class. I remembered the incident as if it were yesterday; I had been selected to sing a solo for our winter recital and was called to the front of the room to rehearse. In the brief moment I had paused to take a breath in between verses, I heard muffled laughter from the back of the classroom. I scanned my peers faces until I found the culprit: Peeta Mellark, staring back at me with a look that could only be read as guilty. A surge of anger pulsed through my tiny body and I marched myself through the crowd of our wide-eyed classmates all the way to where he was seated with Cato and Marvel, his equally wretched friends. They all quickly stopped laughing when they realized I was approaching them, and Peeta's face was beet red as I towered over his plastic chair, wagging my finger and telling him that unless he thought _he_ could do better, he'd keep his mouth shut. 

In the nine years since then, Peeta Mellark had taken my advice and stayed away - for the most part. The only exception to our unspoken rule occurred when we were paired together in seventh grade as biology lab partners, which ended with me nearly stabbing the scalpel in Peeta's eye rather than the specimen we were supposed to be dissecting. Since then, we had abided by a system of sitting in polar opposite corners of any classroom we had to co-inhabit, the most recent of which being Mr. Abernathy's English class.

But just because I never spoke to Peeta Mellark didn't mean I never saw him. In fact, I felt like I caught him staring at me all the time. Whether he was glaring at me from his locker across the hallway, gawking at me from the other side of the crowded cafeteria, or peering through the windows of his family's bakery on Merchant Street as I walked past, it was like his eyes were always following me. His insistence on watching my every move made no sense, especially considering he seemed to have a new girl fawning over him each week. Last I checked it was Glimmer, whose name was just as off-putting as her personality. His continued infatuation with me in spite of his obvious other suitors made my blood boil. And I wasn't about to spend the one night a year when I most looked forward to shutting out the world at Peeta Mellark's house.

_Katniss: sounds good, i'll just chill at home with buttercup. have fun._

As if on cue, I heard the mangy beast knock over what sounded like a stack of books in the living room. Prim had been attempting to train him to put out his paw when ordered, but Buttercup had an apparent preference for wreaking havoc on random household objects over shaking my sister's hand. I hated that stupid cat, but I hated Peeta more. Sure, I was willing to admit that holding a grudge for so long seemed a bit childish, but there was something about that boy that made my skin feel like it was on fire, and there was no logical sentiment I could pin to that feeling other than spite.

I was just about to give in to my misery by pouring both bags of Doritos and Cheetos into one bowl and calling it a night when my phone lit up again. 

_Madge: too late, i already told johanna and annie that you were coming and jo said she would egg your house if you didn't show up_

_Madge: and gale said he'd help her_

_Madge: we'll pick you up at 9 ;)_

Well. I could say no to a lot of things, but the wrath of Johanna Mason was not one of them. Besides, maybe if the whole school was there, I could avoid Peeta altogether...

But I had a feeling that was too much to ask for. 

"Oh my god, Kat. You look _hot_ ," Madge cried from the passenger side of Gale's car three hours after our text conversation. The usually timid girl was evidently already feeling the rush of a few shots; she only ever pulled out that nickname for me after a round of her father's white liquor. I blushed and rolled my eyes in response to her drunken praise, feeling a bit ridiculous in my pale orange tank top and black skinny jeans. It didn't help that it was below 30 degrees out either, but I figured the pajamas that I typically wore on New Year's Eve would be even less appropriate for a high school party. 

"You look great too, Madge," I said as I climbed into the backseat of the car, relishing in the warmth radiating inside the vehicle. If I was cold, Madge must have been freezing in her navy blue dress that appeared to be made of crushed velvet. She really did look stunning, the color of the dress making her eyes pop and contrasting perfectly against her fair skin and blonde hair that fell in waves.

"Is no one going to compliment me?" Gale complained as he put the car in drive, pulling off of my street and heading toward the other side of town.

"You look exactly the same as you do every day," I countered, eyeing his flannel, jeans, and hunting boots. It didn't seem fair that girls were expected to wear a full face of makeup and tight, revealing clothing to parties when guys could get away with wearing dirty laundry. "So, no, you don't get any applause."

"Watch it, Catnip," Gale taunted, wiggling his eyebrows at me in the rearview mirror. "You might want to save some of that energy for Peeta. If I remember correctly, orange is his favorite color."

I reached forward and slapped his shoulder, but both he and Madge just giggled at each other, exchanging a knowing look. I scowled at them before shifting my attention to the window for the rest of the ride. Who cared what Peeta thought of the way I looked? _I_ certainly didn't.

The drive to the Mellark household was much too short for my liking. There was already a long line of parked cars scattered along the road, so Gale had to park a few houses down. The frigid air pierced my skin as we walked and stung even harder since I had grown accustomed to the warmth of the car. Gale wasted no time in pulling the front door open as we mounted the porch, not bothering to knock. Nobody would have heard us above the blasting music and booming voices inside, anyway. I braced myself to be swallowed alive by my own personal house of horrors.

I wasn't surprised that the first person I made eye contact with was a Mellark, but I exhaled in relief that was only Rye, Peeta's older brother. He nodded politely to Madge and I before shouting an overenthusiastic "What's up dude!" to Gale. The boys launched into an easy conversation about classes and teachers whose names sounded vaguely familiar - they were both seniors, one year older than Madge and I - so I took Madge's hand and pulled her deeper into the crowd with me. Between Rye and Peeta's guests it genuinely seemed like half of the high school was stuffed into the two-story house. I made a beeline for what I hoped to be the kitchen, suddenly craving alcohol to help me through the party.

I lost my grip on Madge somewhere along the way and reasoned that she had probably seen Jo or Annie in the sea of bodies and fled to say hello to them. I wouldn't let that deter me, though. Using the staircase in front of me to elevate my view above the heads of my classmates, I spotted a large bottle of tequila among an assortment of alcohol perched on the kitchen counter. It practically had my name written on it. Yes, the finish line was in sight, which made it even more painful that it was that exact moment Peeta Mellark began to descend the stairs.

I heard him before I saw him, his booming laugh echoing across the corridors of his home. As he bounded down the stairs I observed his slicked back blonde locks and piercing blue eyes that glistened in the dim lighting. I also took note of the forest green sweater that clung to the curves of his biceps and rode up his right hip ever so slightly as he raised the red solo cup in his hand above his head. A surge of some feverish feeling I couldn't quite identify swelled within me at the sight of him. I shoved it aside and said a silent prayer that Peeta would ignore me and walk away, but I could tell by his unbalanced steps and glazed over expression that there was enough beer coursing through his system to cause my presence to excite him rather than scare him off. Confirming my fears, he came stumbling toward me.

"Well, it must be my lucky day," he grinned, waving one hand at me while taking a sip from the cup he gripped in the other. "Katniss Everdeen in the flesh. I'll admit, I didn't think you would show up."

"Mellark," I spat out. "I didn't realize you had been expecting me." Who would have given him the idea that I would possibly show up in the first place? The question caused my train of thought to jump, and I promptly realized that he was uncharacteristically alone, no Glimmer or other desperate pursuers attached at his hip. Motioning to the empty space beside him, I feigned a remorseful tone and pouted my bottom lip for extra effect, adding, "Don't tell me you don't have anyone to kiss at midnight."

"Why, are you volunteering for the position?" he smirked, and I almost thought I saw a hint of sincerity twinkling in his eyes. It must have just been a reflection of the abrasive strobe lights, though, because it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Only in your dreams." I rolled my eyes, giving him an unfriendly pat on the shoulder before side-stepping him and breaking away toward the kitchen. He mumbled something under his breath that I couldn't quite make out, but my mind was already elsewhere. I had been right - I was _definitely_ going to need a drink if I wanted to make it to midnight.

"I see you've had the pleasure of running into our gracious host," a smooth voice quipped as I crossed the threshold into the kitchen, and for the first time that night I was truly grateful to see someone. 

"Hey, Finnick," I said, offering him a slight smile while choosing to ignore his comment about Peeta. He must have witnessed the whole interaction and, as if reading my mind, was pouring out a shot of tequila for each of us.

My friendship with Finnick Odair had been unexpected. He transferred to our school district at the beginning of freshman year and quickly charmed both boys and girls alike. Over time he slowly began assembling a rather eclectic collection of allies, including gentle Annie, menacing Johanna, and, much to my chagrin, Peeta Mellark. Once Finnick had both Madge and Gale under his wing I knew I would eventually be sucked into the mismatched friend group by proxy, but our paths didn't officially cross until sophomore year when we were placed in the same marine biology class. It was there that we discovered a shared a passion for the natural sciences and, although his charismatic cockiness annoyed me at first, I found that my pessimistic sarcasm actually made a great counterpart for the beautiful boy. I begrudgingly succumbed to his confusing assortment of companions under the one condition that he never invite me and Peeta to the same gathering. Finnick had agreed at the time, but in that moment in the kitchen I began to wonder if _he_ had something to do with the fact that I was at the Mellark's party. 

"Cheers," Finnick interrupted my suspicions as he lifted one cup to his mouth and held out the other to me, flashing his prize-winning grin before downing the shot in one gulp. I mirrored his actions, albeit much less gracefully, and after a second round I actually began to warm up to the prospect of being at Peeta Mellark's house celebrating New Year's Eve - but I would still need a few more drinks to reach the point of _enjoying_ the evening. 

"Come on." Finnick tugged my arm as I finished pouring out a generous tequila and soda into my cup, leading me back into the living room where Madge had disappeared to earlier. As I caught a glimpse of the back of her blonde head I realized that she and Gale were sitting on the floor, surrounded by others who I was still reluctant to refer to as 'friends'. Annie was nice enough, and I related to Johanna on a strange level, but the rest of the circle I could do without. Delly Cartwright, the Mellark's neighbor, was there, seated next to Rye and another senior boy named Thom. Just as Finnick and I reached the group, Peeta strode in behind us, taking a seat between his brother and Delly and placing an empty beer bottle in the center of the floor. 

"Seriously? _Spin the bottle_? What are we, twelve? Is this your first boy-girl party?" I scoffed, somewhat amused at his prepubescent idea of a party game. Still, I took my seat next to Madge and Finnick, who had quickly found his way to Annie and already had his arms tangled around her. She was the first person he gravitated to when he transferred to our school, and while I don't think either of them had anticipated a budding romance, they made sense together, as if they were always meant to be a whole rather than two separate parts.

"Always so quick to criticize me, Katniss," Peeta responded, giving me a semi-hurt expression before returning his focus to the rest of the group. I barely registered it though, too busy playing the way he had said my name over and over like a broken record player in my head. When was the last time I had actually heard him address me directly? It must have been ages, for my own name sounded like a foreign language coming from his tongue. "This isn't your average game of spin the bottle," he continued, unaware of the mini spasm my brain had just suffered from at his doing. _"This_ is spin the bottle truth or dare. We'll go around the circle, taking turns spinning the bottle. After you spin, whoever it lands on gets to ask you truth or dare."

It sounded simple enough. Delly clapped her hands excitedly - she was always too cheery for my liking - while Johanna made fake puking noises. Everyone else nodded their heads in mutual understanding, and Finnick volunteered to go first. 

After about fifteen minutes of playing, Gale had dared Finnick to run ten laps around the house in nothing but his boxers, Madge dared Delly to wear her clothes inside out and backwards for the rest of the party, and Rye dared Thom to send a picture of him shotgunning a beer to his parents. Somehow Annie's spin landed on Finnick, and nobody was surprised when she picked truth over dare, even though we all knew he would have gone easy on her. He asked her to admit her three favorite things about him which, in true Finnick style, managed to be both entrancing and condescending at the same time.

I was busy trying to think of the perfect dare in case the bottle landed on me when it was Peeta's turn to spin, but when all eyes fell on Johanna, I knew we were in for trouble. 

"Mellark," Jo said with a sneer, the look overtaking her face resembling that of a cartoon villain. "Truth or dare?"

For the first time in my life I actually pitied Peeta. There was no right answer to that question when Johanna Mason was the one asking it, but it seemed like Peeta was feeling brave when he answered with, "Dare."

I tried to picture what Jo could have in mind for him. Would she humiliate him by making him strip bare there in the middle of his own living room, surrounded by nearly every person he'd ever met? Or would she choose a more vulgar route, like forcing him to lick the toilet seat upstairs after dozens of people had visited it that night? The endless possibilities made me shiver. 

The one possibility I didn't think of, though, was what came out of her mouth next. 

"I dare you to take a body shot." Her smirk turned into a delirious grin as she shifted her gaze from Peeta to me. "Off of Katniss."

It didn't come as a shock to most people that I wasn't a frequent party goer. My ideal Friday night included a few close friends, maybe my sister, or sometimes just my couch to keep me company, and my taste for tequila only came out in situations of dire need - like this nightmare of a party. But despite my lack of party experience, I knew what a body shot was, and regardless of my alcohol of choice, I was not fond of the thought of _any_ drink being consumed off of my stomach by Peeta Mellark. 

I could hear the snickering of my friends around me and felt the intensity of Jo's stare boring into my head, but all I could concentrate on was the look of utter horror on Peeta's face. Did the thought of being so close to me really disgust him that much?

"What's the problem, brainless? You forget how to use your mouth?" Jo called out. I snapped my jaw shut, not even realizing that it had fallen agape in shock. "That's fine, I'm sure Peeta can remind you." I made a mental note to move her to the top of the list of people I'd murder if I was ever locked in a room with them. 

"I just don't understand why Peeta's dare is punishing me more than him," I said through gritted teeth. Johanna shrugged in response, indicating that she was unbothered by my bitterness. 

By then Peeta had regained his composure enough so that the alcohol-induced haze took over his dread. "C'mon Katniss, you afraid you'll like it?" he teased with a laugh, clearly trying to egg me on. Well, two could play at that game. 

"I just don't want to hurt your feelings when you realize you want more," I taunted back, putting on my best alluring smile to balance out the contempt in my eyes. 

A mixture of alcohol and flames coursed through my veins. The usual tingle that I felt in Peeta's presence was heightened by the addition of tequila, and in a rush of boldness I stood up to pull my tank top over my head. I looked on with intent as his eyes trailed over my exposed area; the swipe of his tongue against his lips as he drank me in only intensified the heat within me. I had caught Peeta watching me on countless occasions over the years, but I had never been so compelled to stare back.

I broke my reverie long enough to toss my shirt to Madge, who was cheering me on along with the rest of our circle, when I noticed a larger crowd of onlookers had become interested in mine and Peeta's little show. I mentally thanked myself for wearing one of my more conservative bras that night as I grew more aware of the number of eyes on my bare skin.

Wanting to get the whole ordeal over with, I ordered Rye to find some salt and a slice of lime from his kitchen and sent Johanna to retrieve the near-empty bottle of tequila. Everyone else moved to make room for me to lay in the center of the circle on the floor, where the empty beer bottle had been just moments ago. My head happened to fall right below where Finnick and Annie were seated, and he pumped his fist into the air enthusiastically as a sign of his support while she gave me a soft smile of reassurance. It was strange seeing such different people work so well together. _Love is weird_ , I thought.

I noticed then that Gale was pointedly looking away, likely not enjoying the fact that I was laying exposed in front of a crowd of people, about to be licked in a rather sensual spot by my archrival. Of course, he had no claim over me - we had attempted dating in middle school and barely made it out of that mess with our friendship intact. Still, I knew that whether it be in a friendly, brotherly, or romantic sense, he felt protective of me, and since he was our designated driver, he had no alcohol to take the edge off. For some reason, his disapproval only made me want to do it more. 

"Alright, I got the goods," Rye announced as he returned from the kitchen, handing over the supplies to Peeta, who had been unusually quiet since I shot him down earlier. It wasn't until he lowered himself to his knees and hovered above my head that I noticed his shaky breaths and the vaguely familiar look in his eye that I had spotted earlier in the night - one of sincerity; one of hope. It made my stomach do a summersault.

"So, uh, I guess I sprinkle this... here?" Peeta asked, hovering the saltshaker over my upper abdomen. His apparent uneasiness at our situation was almost sweet. But then I remembered it was his fault that I got dragged into this mess anyway and roughly pushed his hand away from my chest.

"Just pour it on my wrist," I huffed, licking my lower arm so that the salt would stick to it. He poured a generous amount out as Jo made her way back to us with the tequila.

"Here you go, Lover Boy," she said as she handed the bottle over to Peeta. "Enjoy."

He eyed me nervously one last time, silently questioning if it was okay. It _shouldn't_ have been okay. The whole thing was far outside my comfort zone but, in a strange way, Peeta's clear concern for me both subdued my worries and magnified the inferno blazing through my bloodstream. I nodded back at him, signaling my approval. 

The tequila felt warm and sticky as he poured a shot onto my navel, and I struggled to stay still enough so that it wouldn't spill over the sides of my hips or spread downward below my pants. Lastly, Peeta delicately placed the slice of lime in my mouth, the fleshy part facing outward so he could suck on it after taking the shot. I willed him to move through the motions quickly and clenched my eyes shut. 

But they shot open again when I felt him press a light kiss to my wrist. It only lasted a split second and was far too small a gesture to be noticed by anyone else, but it did nothing to soothe the pounding of my heart. I watched in awe as Peeta ran his tongue along my skin, gathering up every particle of salt. His breath was hot and intense, and I attempted to bite the inside of my cheek as I felt him move down toward my middle, but the wedge of lime stopped me from doing so. 

Just as he had done on my arm, he gently placed his lips to my hip bone in a hurried kiss before turning his focus to the liquid. I desperately wished I could close my mouth fully because the sensation of Peeta's tongue lapping at my center was so euphoric that I let out a soft gasp. The way he smiled into my skin told me that he heard me. My eyes fluttered closed again as his tongue made contact with my center for a third, fourth, fifth time, sucking up the liquid with ease. He may have been the one consuming the tequila, but I felt as though I was growing dizzier with intoxication with each passing second. 

Finally, Peeta pulled himself from my stomach and practically crawled on all fours to reach my face. I forced my eyes open once more and noticed that his own ocean blue eyes were gone, replaced by gaping black holes of lust. I wondered if mine looked the same.

That time I anticipated it when he planted a chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth before latching onto the lime, sinking his teeth into it to chase the alcohol. Peeta's lips brushed against mine in several spots, and in my state of delirium I wished the stupid fruit was gone so I could taste him myself.

After all the juices had been sucked from the lime and we broke apart, Peeta lingered above my face for just a moment, his chest heaving before he leaned away to regain his breath. I watched him use the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and the motion sent a pang of heat through my body that made my toes curl.

I abruptly sat up to stop that train of thought from continuing and realized that, thankfully, not many people were still watching us. Whatever crowd we had initially drawn seemed to have vanished back into the depths of the party, clearly uninterested in our performance. Johanna even looked a little bored herself, probably hoping for more of a fight from my end.

I had been surprised at my lack of opposition, too. 

The rest of our friends looked as stunned as I felt. Annie and Madge were attempting to hide their shocked giggles behind their hands, while Gale's eyes were practically bugging out of his head. 

"I feel like I just watched a weird, PG-13 porno," Finnick said, looking a little bashful, and everyone stammered in agreement. After a few more beats of awkward silence our group slowly dissipated, signaling that the game was over. I watched everyone join different clusters scattered across the house until Peeta and I were fully alone. 

"That was... _new_ ," Peeta murmured, staring down at where his hands were picking at the carpet. Now that the trance had been broken, I was feeling more confused and embarrassed than ever. Mere hours earlier I had my heart set on spending New Year's Eve alone with my sister's cat and yet there I was, sitting next to Peeta Mellark on his living room floor, topless and sticky from a combination of alcohol and his saliva. And I wasn't even mad about it.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," I eventually responded, hastily leaning over to retrieve my shirt that Madge had left behind and draping it in front of me for coverage. I found the rest of my drink from earlier, knocked it back in a few sips, and managed to pull myself to my feet. I fled the scene without a second thought, preventing Peeta from saying anything else, and headed across the living room and up the staircase where I hoped to find a bathroom. My legs felt like jelly beneath me and I accidentally opened the door to a linen closet and an occupied bedroom before I finally made it to my destination. I locked the door behind me and sank to my knees, holding my head in my hands. Because all I could think about was Peeta Mellark's mouth on me. _All over_ me.

"Get it together, Katniss," I quietly reprimanded myself. I reached out for the sink to pull myself up, clinging tightly to the rim to steady my balance. My hands eventually found one of the sink's handles and tugged at it, releasing cold water from the spout, and splashed it onto my still-hot cheeks. 

I recognized that feeling, like I was burning up inside and out. I had always associated that fire with Peeta, assuming it was kindled by my rage toward him. But the tingling sensation that persisted in every inch of my body that he had touched - and everywhere that I _wished_ he had touched - led me to believe that maybe I had been wrong all those years. Maybe the fire was borne out of fervor rather than fury; of hunger rather than hatred. And all it took was a game of truth or dare, Johanna Mason, and a bottle of tequila to make me realize it. 

Except that was crazy. _Clearly it's the alcohol talking_ , I told myself. I was a few drinks in and suddenly my hormones had managed to convince me that I actually wanted Peeta Mellark - that was crazy, right?

I pulled a handful of tissues from a box on the counter and crumpled them together, splashing some water on them to wipe down the sticky area on my stomach. I scrubbed away any trace of Peeta Mellark from my skin, focusing my attention on the icy water to help put out the flames within me and soothe my spinning mind.

The peace and quiet lasted for about fifteen seconds. I heard someone fumbling with the doorknob from the hallway and watched them swiftly swing it open before I could call out in protest, clearly having no regard for my need for privacy. My heart rate spiked yet again as I took in the sight of Peeta standing in the door frame with a small silver key in his hand. 

"What the hell! What if I had been-" There were countless ways I could have ended that sentence - I was in a bathroom, after all - but I didn't have the chance to finish before Peeta interrupted me. 

"You were right," he blurted out, not budging from the entrance to the tiny room that seemed to grow smaller with each passing moment. His eyes wouldn't meet mine either, darting across every surface of the room before settling on my chest. I remembered for the first time that I was still in just my bra, having dropped my tank top after entering the bathroom, and instinctively crossed my arms to cover myself. 

"I'm sure I was, but which particular instance are you talking about?" I asked, exasperated. All I wanted was to clean myself up, piece my sanity back together, and go home. But clearly Peeta had other plans.

"Earlier, when you said that I'd realize I want more," he said as he took a step forward, closing the door behind him. When he came closer I could see that his eyes had turned dark again. "You were right. I want more."

And then his lips were on mine. 

Kissing Peeta was... oddly exactly how I had pictured it. _Not_ that I had ever thought about it, but that familiar fire was back and stronger than ever, spreading from my lips throughout my limbs. My arms and legs became useless as they melted to putty, and while my head had been drowning in thoughts just moments earlier, it had since been drained of everything other than Peeta, Peeta, _Peeta_. 

But that very name was the same thing that sent me into a world of confusion. That was the boy I had spent nine years running away from. The boy who ignited a flame that no one else could; whose gaze I could feel at every turn; who had awoken a hunger within me that I didn't even know I had been deprived of.

As his lips travelled away from my mouth, peppering kisses along my jawline and sucking sweet spots into my neck, I panted, "Why are you doing this?" I couldn't tell if I was asking myself or Peeta. In the meantime, I drew my arms around his broad shoulders, sinking my nails into his skin. "We're supposed to hate each other."

He extracted himself from my neck and pushed his forehead to mine, barely brushing our noses together. I could feel his breath graze across my lips as he whispered, "Maybe I don't want to hate you." It came out almost like a question, as if he was doubting himself. Or, more likely, was doubting how I would respond. So instead of responding, I crashed my lips back onto his. Maybe I didn't want to hate him either. 

I allowed Peeta to slide his hands down my sides and rest on the backs of my thighs, begging him with my tongue to keep touching me everywhere he could reach. I drew in a sharp breath as he lifted me up and placed me on the counter so he could settle between my legs. I instinctively wrapped myself around him, pulling him closer toward me. He let his hands explore me in our newfound proximity, tracing outlines on my thighs and skating his finger upward across my chest. Testing the waters, he ran his thumbs over the exterior of my bra across my hardened nipples. The moan I elicited in response gave him the permission he needed to dip his hands beneath the thin fabric.

I learned that Peeta's hands were nimble workers, though whether that be from the time he spent decorating cakes with precision in the bakery or from past experience with a handful of girls, I wasn't sure. But I couldn't bring myself to care about anything other than the exquisite feeling of him touching, squeezing, rubbing me with such intensity. His left hand roughly massaged one breast while I felt his right slip lower, resting on the crease between my lower abdomen and my thigh. He then abruptly latched his mouth onto my other breast and swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub, causing my back to arch as if a jolt of electricity had been sent down my spine. 

" _Peeta_ ," his name spilled out of my mouth, my voice laced with longing. Suddenly the hand near my middle began to move again, ever so slightly drifting toward where I needed him most. 

"Wait," my words came out hoarse and tore both his focus and his hands from my body. "Not here," I said, gesturing to the toilet next to us. I may have been feeling a bit more daring than usual, but I wasn't about to let him go down on me in his bathroom. 

"Oh," he exhaled, clearly relieved that I hadn't changed my mind completely and rejected his advances. "We could... go to my room? If that's okay?" Once again, I felt enamored by his nervousness. 

"Hurry up before I change my mind," I smirked, and he wasted no time in lifting me again and racing toward the door. My head fell back in laughter at both his eagerness to get out of the small bathroom and his difficulty opening the door with me in his arms. Once we were finally free of our small confine, Peeta flew down the hallway, likely making it to his room in record speed.

He kicked the door shut behind him, locking it in good measure, and settled me onto his bed. While I took in my surroundings I was struck by the realization of what was happening. I usually wasn't one to throw caution to the wind, but maybe it was the New Year's Eve spirit that convinced me to try something new.

As Peeta's lips pulled me back in, though, I knew that my willingness to melt into his touch had nothing to do with the holiday or even the alcohol. It was the pulsating desire, the fire raging in my core that called out to him, and he answered with enthusiasm.

Without breaking our kiss I found his hands and led them back to my chest, hoping he would understand what I was asking for without having to say the words. Peeta immediately pulled at the band of my bra and reached around my back to unclasp it, freeing me of its restrictions. His mouth remained on mine, not wanting to interrupt the delicate dance our tongues had mastered, as he drew both hands back to palm my breasts. Without warning he twisted both of my nipples in unison, causing our lips to finally part as I nearly screamed from the frenzy of his touch, managing to muffle it into a guttural sigh instead. 

"Can I..." he drew out his words as he fumbled with my jeans again, and I found no reason to stop him that time. I nodded vigorously while tugging him closer by the collar of his sweater, needing to taste more of him with every fleeting second. 

Peeta expertly flicked the button of my pants open and tore down the zipper. I lifted my hips off his bed to wriggle out of the tight material as he ripped my jeans and panties from me in one go, discarding them on the floor and leaving me entirely bare in front of him.

The expression on Peeta's face was one of pure awe, like he had just unveiled a work of art and was basking in its beauty. Naturally, I felt self-conscious under the weight of his stare, especially as I thought back to his initial look of terror when Jo had first announced our dare. Brushing that thought out of my mind, I took the opportunity to trail my hands to the hem of his sweater and lifted it slightly to reveal his chest. Doing the rest of the work for me, Peeta tore the fabric over his head and threw it over the edge of the bed, blushing in response to his obvious excitement. When he lowered himself to me again, I couldn't help but shiver at the sensation of his bare chest flush against mine. 

Already distracted by the sensory overload, I hadn't even noticed that his hand had begun trailing down my body again, and I cried out when he innocently swept a single finger across my heat. 

"Shit, Katniss. You're so wet," he gasped. The knot in my stomach coiled even tighter at his words. 

"Touch me again," I begged. I hated how desperate I sounded, but no amount of humility in the world could tame my need for him. 

"Can I taste you?" Peeta's words threw me off course, releasing another wave of heat over my body. His eyes reflected the same sense of aching that I felt throbbing between my legs, and I barely managed to release a garbled "Mhmm" before he dove down to my core. 

I couldn’t look away as he dropped dainty kisses along my thighs, the same way he had earlier when I laid before him in the living room. Now that he had me alone, though, he let his mouth linger over the sensitive spots for much longer, taking his time working me to the edge. Finally, his skilled tongue dipped beneath my folds, drawing out the wetness that had pooled there over the past hour. I bit my bottom lip so hard I nearly drew blood and twisted my fists into his bedsheets to stop myself from lunging forward. Peeta repeated the motion over and over until I was shaking beneath him, driven mad with ecstasy.

After spreading my arousal with his tongue, he deftly shifted his concentration to the bundle of nerves at the crest of my slit, alternating his movements between flicking his tongue and lightly sucking. The motions sent me into a fit of mania, yelping and mewling his name like it was the only word in my vocabulary. I spilled over the edge as he moaned into my clit and thrust two fingers into me, splaying his other hand across my breasts. 

" _Fuck_ , Peeta!" I cried into the empty room, hoping that the that the noise of the party would conceal my outburst and gasping for air as he finished me off. As I regained my senses I felt him trailing tender kisses back up my chest until he rested his head on the pillow next to mine.

"I've wanted to do that forever," Peeta admitted breathlessly. I furrowed my brow in confusion, about to ask him how that could be true when we had been fueling a rivalry for nearly a decade, but an eruption of voices from the floor below us prevented me from questioning him further.

_"Ten! Nine! Eight!"_

The chorus of our friends and classmates announced the arrival of midnight, counting down the seconds to the new year. 

"Looks like you're going to be my kiss at midnight after all," he smiled, revealing a genuine sparkle in his eye. 

_"Four! Three! Two!"_

In my state of sated bliss, I had no qualms about leaning forward and attaching my lips to his once more, that time working our mouths together with much less urgency and instead reveling in the sensation of his tongue gliding over mine. As his neighbors lit sparklers and banged on pots and pans from their front yards, I felt my own internal fireworks display burst in every spot where my body touched Peeta's. 

"Happy New Year," I whispered into his ear as he rubbed circles on my lower back.

"You know, you never got your turn at truth or dare," was his reply. 

"I think I've had enough of that game for the rest of the year," I asserted, but he looked back at me with an annoying puppy dog look painted on his face. I hated how undeniably adorable it was, and I had a feeling he knew I wouldn't be able to say no. "Fine," I gave in, "ask me."

"Truth or dare?" His face broke out into a wide grin. 

"Dare," I answered, figuring I didn't have much else to lose that night, already laying naked in front of him. Besides, relinquishing any truths to Peeta would require some degree of understanding of my own feelings, and both the alcohol and arousal were starting to catch up to my brain. 

"I dare you to stay," he said plainly, but it took me aback even more severely than Johanna's dare had earlier. 

"You seriously want me to stay with you?" I questioned, not quite being able to fathom how Peeta had managed to go from loathing me to lusting after me in a span of hours. Then again, that's exactly what had happened to me.

Somehow, his response managed to clear away any remaining doubt over what the true nature of my feelings toward him had been all along. I would be left to deal with the repercussions of that revelation in the morning, but in that moment I could only think about how warm I felt as Peeta answered with, " _Always_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! drop a kudos or comment to let me know if you're liking it and I promise to update soon!


	2. Peeta's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That left me with two options. Latch onto her suggestion like a last lifeline and brush off my confession as a fit of teenage horniness, or admit my near decade-long infatuation with her and try to convince her that we were soulmates. I was at a crossroads. But, although the word truth was in the name of the game, I knew I’d have to hold back if I wanted to keep Katniss in my life for longer than a day._
> 
> or,
> 
> Peeta wakes up with the girl of his dreams asleep in his arms and, against all odds, she doesn’t end his life then and there. But even after years of watching Katniss Everdeen from afar, he can’t quite tell how she feels about him - and it seems like she’s questioning her feelings, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to switch to peeta’s pov for this chapter, i might keep alternating perspectives moving forward so we get to hear both sides of the story if you guys would be interested in that! and it wouldn’t be an everlark fic if it didn’t mention cheese buns, am i right?
> 
> also it’s now canon that rye is a britney spears stan. that is all. enjoy!

New Year's Eve had always been my favorite holiday. When I was a kid, it seemed like I could never escape my mother's wrath - she even found ways to turn Christmas and my own birthday into living nightmares. But every December 31st, as the clock ticked toward midnight and the champagne started flowing, her verbal and physical abuse toward me became subdued. By 11 pm she would be passed out on the couch in an alcohol-induced slumber, allowing me to rejoice in a few peaceful hours of celebration with my father and brothers.

Even though my parents divorced when I was in fifth grade, I still found myself counting down the days until New Year's Eve as a teenager. I was entranced by the fireworks, the noise makers, and even the television special with the giant sparkling ball. Something about ringing in a brand new year was more magical for me than Santa Claus. 

After my parents separated, my father commenced a new tradition of bringing my brothers and I upstate to celebrate New Year’s with all of our cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents - something my mom wouldn’t ever allow. My dad had never been happier than when we were together with our extended family, and I was finally beginning to feel like _we_ could be a family again.

But, like all good things, even that tradition had to come to an end at some point. I was in seventh grade when my oldest brother, Graham, asked if he could stay home on his own for the weekend instead of joining the rest of us. He was in his senior year of high school and he begged our dad to spend his last New Year’s Eve with his friends and girlfriend. My dad carried such an immense sense of guilt for the way our mother had ruined most holidays during our childhood, feeling personally responsible for allowing her reign of terror to go on for so long, so it was no surprise when he said yes. Knowing Graham, it was also no surprise that upon our return a few days later he excitedly told me and Rye all about the insane party he had thrown at our house for his entire senior class.

That party kicked off what would become unofficially known as the Mellark Brothers’ Annual New Year’s Eve Rager. Since Graham headed off to college the next year, the responsibility to carry on the tradition fell on Rye, who had just entered his freshman year of high school. That was also the last year I accompanied our dad to our relatives’ house for the new year, and even though I felt bad for abandoning him, it felt good to be a part of something special between my brothers and I. Besides, he was a single dad to three teenage boys - I was practically doing him a favor by giving him a break from all his kids.

As much as I loved the party element of New Year’s Eve, I always found the most meaningful part of the holiday to be the resolutions, but I never fell back on the stereotypical “go to the gym” or “make more money” goals. When I was eight, my resolution had been to make it onto the Kids Baking Championship television show on Food Network. I didn’t quite make the cut, but I _did_ win our town’s annual gingerbread decorating contest, so I counted it as a success anyway. Other noteworthy resolutions included painting the first-place piece in a competition for local artists to have their work showcased in the grand entrance of the town’s Justice Building, and single-handedly creating an extended “savory” menu for the bakery featuring my soon-to-be world-famous cheese buns.

At seventeen, my junior year resolution had initially been to work my way up to the captain’s spot on the wrestling team by the time I was a senior, but I had a feeling that would change. Maybe it had to do with the fact that my senior year wouldn't start for another eight months and the wait felt daunting. Maybe it was because I already knew I had the title in my back pocket and I wanted to push myself a little harder.

But it probably had the most to do with the fact that Katniss Everdeen was naked and asleep in my arms when I woke up on January 1st. 

I could feel her in bed beside me before I fully regained consciousness and had to dig deep to remember a few breathing exercises to stop myself from hyperventilating at the memory of what had happened that night. As I stirred fully awake, anxiously blinking the sleep from my eyes, I tried my best not to disturb her sleeping figure. Katniss was always beautiful, but there was something mesmerizing about the peaceful look on her face as she dreamt. The possibility that she might have been dreaming of _me_ sent a wave of heat through my body.

 _How did I get here?_ I asked myself. My mind ached from trying to remember exactly which details had fallen perfectly into place for me to end up in bed with the girl of my dreams. I had to mentally backtrack to about fifteen hours earlier...

~

"Dude, guess what!" Finnick burst through the front door of my house at 7 pm, a whopping two hours before even the earliest party guests would start to roll in. I had been dashing around the first floor of my house like a mad man trying to hide or remove any valuables that could potentially be broken by a crowd of a hundred or so drunk teenagers before I was so rudely interrupted by my friend, demanding that his presence be my top priority.

“Do you ever knock?” I shot back, questioning why I had left the door unlocked in the first place. He clearly wasn’t interested in humoring me, though, so I sighed and racked my brain for the best response to his question. "You asked Annie to marry you and she said yes?"

"Nah, I'm saving that for her birthday," he jested in that special Finnick Odair tone that always made me second guess whether he was joking or not. "Word on the street is that Katniss Everdeen is coming to your party tonight," he added slyly. And he definitely wasn’t joking that time. 

I nearly shattered the picture frame I had been in the process of relocating. "Wha- how do you know that? And who the hell did you tell-"

"Geez, don’t lose your cool, Peet. Your secret is safe with me.” He patted me on the back before jumping onto the couch and grabbing a handful of chips from the bowl I had set out for the guests later. Finnick never had any reservations about making himself feel at home, even when it came at my expense.

“So you didn’t tell anyone about...you know...” I trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud. It had been hard enough to admit to him that I was hopelessly in love with Katniss the first time, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing the words come out of my mouth again. “How I _feel_ about her.”

“Well, technically I told Annie, who told Madge-”

“Finn!” He was lucky I had just spent an hour vacuuming the house or else his blood would be spilled all over the carpet. “I asked you to keep _one_ secret and you couldn’t even do that?!"

“Chill out! Your secret is safe with them too," he said through a mouthful of potato chips. His poise toward the whole situation only irritated me more. I didn’t doubt that Annie would respect my privacy, but if Madge let one word slip to Gale... well, that was a scenario I tried not to imagine. I didn’t exactly understand the relationship between him and Katniss, but I figured that he must have hated me with the same ferocity she did - not that I even knew _why_ she hated me in the first place - and Gale Hawthorne was not a guy you wanted on your bad side. There weren’t many people I knew who made me doubt my wrestling skills, but the oldest Hawthorne son was one of them. Not that Katniss needed her six-foot-tall brooding best friend to fight her battles for her, though. If she had wanted me dead, she would have had my head on a stick long ago.

I pushed Finnick’s legs off the couch so I could sit and drain the thoughts of my own certain doom from my mind, slapping his hands away as he tried to bribe me with some of my own chips as a peace offering. “It’s not funny,” I bemoaned, but he kept snickering beside me. “Half of our friends know about my stupid crush. That's just great."

"I thought it would be," he smirked, ignoring my blatant sarcasm. "Look, I knew it was going to take a team effort to get Everdeen to show up, but I made it happen for you!” He genuinely seemed to believe he had done me a favor by blabbing my secret. “You can thank me later - after you get your kiss at midnight."

As if that would ever happen. Katniss and I had barely exchanged a word in the past five years despite our overlapping pool of friends. I shuddered at the thought of the last time I tried to start a conversation with her in middle school science class. She had almost carved me apart instead of the frog we were supposed to dissect. Yet, as much as she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with me, I felt like I couldn’t escape her. Katniss Everdeen was everywhere I went, waiting around the bend of every corner, and I couldn’t ignore the way my heart beat twenty times faster whenever I was in her presence. I didn’t remember a time when I wasn’t captivated by the grey-eyed girl, and I knew without a doubt that I would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked me to.

But I knew she never would.

"Hey, you don't mind if me and Annie crash here tonight, right?" Finnick’s words drew me out of my cloud of self-pity. It was a rather untimely question, bringing up how happy he and his girlfriend were when I had just been slapped with the harsh reality that the girl I’d pined after for years would never love me back, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to be mad at him. I may have been single and feeling sorry for myself, but it only took about five minutes in the same room as Finnick and Annie to be reassured that love is indeed real.

"Only if you plan on cleaning up in the morning," I answered, knowing full well that there was a greater chance of hell freezing over than Finnick volunteering to be part of the clean-up crew. 

"You can always count on me," he said with a wink. _Yeah_ , I thought, _count on you for making my life ten times harder_.

Satisfied with his scheming, Finnick shoveled one last handful of chips into his mouth before leaping to his feet, announcing that he and Annie had business to take care of before the party. The obscene gestures he made with his hands told me more than I wanted to know about said ‘business’. "Wait!" I called out before he could pull the front door shut behind him. He stuck his head back through the gap, raising a questioning eyebrow. "What should I wear?" I asked lamely. I was used to dressing up for girls, but Katniss was nothing like those who usually approached me.

I wasn’t entirely sure why I seemed to attract so many girls at our school. I figured it might have had something to do with my status as one of the best wrestlers our town had seen in decades, and I wasn’t too humble to admit that I looked damn good in a varsity jacket. One girl had once said that she was surprised such a tough guy could be so “in touch with his feminine side” after I told her about my passions for baking and painting. Regardless, none of my flings ever lasted long enough to be considered relationships, and I usually broke things off after the first few dates anyway. It was ironic that I had so many potential girlfriends lined up and willing to get to know me, yet I was consumed by the one girl whose goal in life appeared to be ignoring my existence.

Finnick leaned back in a hearty laugh, clearly entertained at my desperate attempt to woo a girl who had already made her feelings toward me very clear. "Wear something green. It's her favorite," he said, ducking back out of my house so I couldn't bombard him with any more silly questions. 

Green. I could work with that. 

~

I eyed the sweater that I had worn last night, amused at how it had somehow ended up draped over my bedside lamp. The light snort that I accidentally released stirred Katniss, and an internal panic seized my body. I had no idea what I was going to say to her - that was, if she even gave me the chance to speak before slapping me senseless and darting out of my house.

But instead, she let out a soft hum and snuggled closer to my chest. It was the most endearing thing I had ever seen. 

Of course, the serenity only lasted a few seconds before Katniss came to her senses and realized that she had her arms wrapped around another human and _not_ a pillow, and her eyes shot open.

"Please don't run," I whispered without thinking. It wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized how creepy they sounded, like I had kidnapped her and was begging her not to escape. She rolled away from me nonetheless, peeling our entangled limbs apart, but the alarm evident on her face was quickly constricted by what I assumed was a hangover setting in.

"Trust me, my instincts are telling me to do just that. But my head is pounding so hard, I don't think I could get up if I tried," Katniss groaned, confirming my theory. She winced as she drew a hand out from beneath the covers to put some pressure on her forehead and drew her eyes shut again.

I felt a pang of guilt in my heart. Even though I had been considerably drunk myself, I began to regret allowing my desire to take over while she was in a state of vulnerability. Sure, she had seemed to be into it, and I remembered asking for her permission several times, but was I wrong to assume that had been enough? The last thing I wanted to do was take advantage of her.

As if she had read my mind, Katniss uncovered her face to look me head on. I was relieved to find almost no trace of remorse in her expression. “You can breathe, Peeta. I’m not mad,” she said with conviction. I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath. 

“So. We’re good?” It seemed like a stupid thing to ask as our exposed bodies laid only inches apart, and sure, we hadn’t actually had sex, but I felt the need to clear the air.

Katniss hummed in assent. “My head just hurts. Can you get me some water? And maybe an aspirin?”

For some reason, her lack of anger threw me off even more than an actual outburst would have. “Yeah, of course,” I nodded, scrambling to find a pair of pants on the floor to pull on before standing. I spared one last glance back at Katniss and attempted to permanently ingrain the image of her sprawled out in my bed into my brain.

I was still in such a state of rapture that I almost thought I hallucinated the image of Finnick Odair walking out of my bathroom in nothing but a towel. _Almost_.

“Uh, hello?” Finnick whipped around at the sound of my voice, shaking the remaining droplets of water from his hair before clapping me on the back.

“Hey man, what’s up? You sleep good?” he asked with a suggestive wink, implying that he knew I had company. But for the first time since I had woken up, Katniss wasn’t on the forefront of my mind.

“What are you doing in my house?” It was only 10 in the morning, and surely the showers in his own home worked perfectly fine.

“What?” he shrugged, the motion causing his loosely tied towel to slip ever so slightly. I kept my eyes trained on his upper half just in case I got more of a show that I wanted. “You said I could stay over if I cleaned up afterward,” he stated plainly, transporting me back to our conversation from the day prior. I had already revisited that exchange once that morning, yet the bit about Finnick asking to spend the night had seemed like the least important tidbit.

“I meant clean up my _house_ , not yourself,” I whined, but I knew Finnick had understood the true meaning of my words the first time around and was just being an ass. It was useless to reason with him. “Whatever, just get dressed and get out, okay?” I all but pleaded. I didn’t need him to scare Katniss off.

“Sure,” Finnick agreed, heading down the hall in the direction of the spare bedroom. “We’ll be on our way as soon as Annie wakes up.”

“Annie is here too?!” I exclaimed with all the intensity of a scream confined to the volume of a whisper. Finnick shushed me, not wanting to disturb his girlfriend, and I didn’t want to alert Katniss either, so I lowered my voice when I spoke again. “She doesn’t even drink, why couldn’t she have driven you both home last night?”

He pretended to consider my point but ultimately brushed it off. “It was so late, and your guest bed was so comfy. We couldn’t bring ourselves to leave.”

The smirk on his face rubbed me the wrong way. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

“Oh, we did,” he laughed. “A couple times. You might wanna change the sheets before your dad gets home.”

I was about to complain again when a female voice interrupted my grievances. But it didn’t belong to Annie, and it certainly wasn’t Katniss’s.

“Can you two monkeys shut up? Some of us need our beauty sleep.” I turned to face the one and only Johanna Mason. And she had just emerged from my _brother’s_ bedroom.

“Okay, now I think I’m going to be sick,” I exhaled deeply, bracing myself against the wall in a futile attempt to wipe my imagination clear of any images of Rye and Johanna spending the night together. Meanwhile, she and Finnick high-fived each other and giggled like schoolgirls. I really needed to reconsider my taste in friends.

Deciding then was my best chance to break free from that nightmare, I turned and left them to their gossiping, remembering my real purpose for leaving my bedroom: retrieving water and medicine for Katniss.

Luckily, I didn’t run into any more stragglers left over from the party on my way to the kitchen. Upon returning to the upstairs hallway, I was also grateful to find that Finnick and Johanna had retreated to the rooms they’d come from. 

I pushed my bedroom door open with my foot and hoped that the wooden divider had prevented Katniss from hearing the scene in the hallway. The coast seemed to be clear as I found her still in bed, scrolling through her phone. Her brow was furrowed in frustration at whatever was on the screen, but something else caught my eye. She had found a spare t-shirt laying on my dresser and pulled it on while I was gone, and it looked far better on her than I ever could have imagined. I allowed myself precisely five seconds to bask in her glory before I fully entered the room, struggling to recompose myself. The sight of Katniss wrapped in my clothes nearly did enough to excite me as much as her bare chest had the night before.

She looked up at the sound of my footsteps and returned her phone to its position on my nightstand, taking the glass of water and aspirin from my hands with thanks. “Is your mom wondering where you are?” I asked after she had gulped down the pills.

“Hm? Oh, no, she thought I was spending the night at Madge’s anyway,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Madge, on the other hand, has sent me about twenty texts and left six voicemails that I don’t think I’m ready to listen to yet.” I understood. After all, I certainly hadn’t been ready to face any questions from our friends, either. “What took you so long? I thought I heard voices-”

It was at that very instant that Finnick decided to saunter into my room, donning just a pair of boxers, to ask where I kept my _moisturizer_ , of all things. I watched the blood drain from Katniss’s face at the realization that she had been caught, and was simultaneously relieved that she had the foresight to put a shirt on.

“I don’t use that stuff, Finn, I’m a _guy_ ,” I groaned, mortified for both mine and Katniss’s sake.

"And _real_ men moisturize," he countered, but he wasn't looking at me. He had his sights set on Katniss. He'd probably made up the dumb question just so he had an excuse to disturb us and make her squirm, though she was doing an impressive job of covering up the combination of rage and embarrassment she was surely feeling. Not that it mattered, though; Finnick knew her well enough to know what effect his mocking had on her.

“How about you go put some pants on?” was all she managed to say.

Finnick’s face lit up at her suggestion. “Why?” he asked, swiveling his hips in a circular motion that was more amusing than sexy. “Do you find this...distracting?” Katniss rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to smile until he spoke up again. “Besides, I doubt you’re wearing any pants under there either, Everdeen,” he pointed out, gesturing to the blanket that concealed both of our lower halves. Then it was my turn to bite back laughter because, of course, he was correct.

Evidently neither of us was going to be allowed to catch a break that morning, for in the next moment Johanna stormed through the door and shouted “I knew it! I swore I heard brainless’s voice last night.”

It seemed there was nothing left that could surprise Katniss, for her only reaction was to groan and hide under the covers. “Not so innocent now, are you, Kitty Kat?” Jo continued to antagonize her, and even I was put off by her nickname of choice.

“Come on, you can do better than that, can’t you Jo?” I taunted her, rising from the bed to throw our strewn clothes at the unwelcome guests to ward them off. “Now get out of my house, both of you,” I scolded as they finally retreated to the door. “And clean up some of those bottles when you go downstairs!”

“I call dibs on the _unopened_ bottles,” I heard Jo remark before they both disappeared out into the hall. I listened as their footsteps echoed down the stairs, waiting until they were out of earshot to collapse back onto the bed.

Once the coast was clear, Katniss peaked her head back out from under the comforter. “Did the whole town stay over at your house last night?” she asked sarcastically, though it certainly felt that way.

I held up my hands to count on my fingers. “Well, other than us, there’s my brother, those two idiots, and Annie stayed with Finnick,” I listed, raising six fingers. “And I didn’t check to see if anyone camped out under the kitchen cabinets or in the coat closet, but I think that’s it.”

She considered that, turning it over in her head as if she was debating whether or not to comment, before finally saying, “Well, you sure didn’t hesitate to check every inch of the house when you barged in on me in the bathroom last night.”

Oh shit. _She’s right_ , I blushed, recalling how I had intruded on her. I hadn’t spared a second thought before using the hidden key atop the door frame to get to Katniss.

“How did you know where to find me?” she pushed, more curious than bitter, which I took as a good sign. “You didn’t even knock.”

“I ran into Darius in the hallway. He said you accidentally ran in on him and his date before heading to the bathroom.” I said with a shy smile, and then it was her turn to blush.

“Oh,” was all she got out, forming a perfect circle with her mouth before turning her gaze to my blanket. I was swiftly reminded that she was completely bare underneath the covers, and a hot flush blossomed up the back of my neck at the mental image of Katniss spread open for me. Still, we sat in silence for a few beats, neither one of us daring to mention what had happened in the bathroom, and especially not what happened afterward in the very bed we were stretched out in.

“I should go home,” she eventually spoke, seeming neither particularly excited nor let down by the prospect of leaving. I couldn’t fight with that; she had to leave eventually. I just wished that I had the courage to tell her how I felt about her and ask if there was any possibility that she could reciprocate those feelings. But I had missed my chance. “I’ll see if Finnick and Annie can drop me off on their way-”

“No,” I cut her off. At least the ride to her house would give me the opportunity to gauge if she wanted to see me again. “Let me drive you,” I insisted. Katniss eyed me cautiously. “Seriously, let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do after making you stay last night.”

I watched her contemplate my offer. “You didn’t _make_ me do anything,” she huffed under her breath, but nodded nevertheless. “Well? Turn around, I’m not letting you watch me get dressed.”

It was a little ridiculous, considering where my eyes, hands, and tongue had roamed just hours prior, but I complied. I rifled through my closet, pulling out a clean shirt along with my coat and a pair of shoes, and left her to change in peace.

I thought about entering Rye’s room to make sure he was still alive and intact after his night with Johanna, but, fearing that she would still be on the other side, I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth instead.

“Do you have a spare?” Katniss asked minutes later, emerging in the doorway out of nowhere as I rinsed the last of my toothpaste down the drain. I nearly jumped at her unexpected presence, but as I soaked up her appearance the shock transformed into a fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach. She had slipped back into her combat boots and black jeans from the night before, and while she had abandoned my t-shirt, she replaced it with one of my favorite sweatshirts. I must have left the light blue hoodie hanging on the back of my desk chair, free for the taking, and I had to do a double take to fully absorb the sight of Katniss in it. She truly looked even more beautiful each time I saw her. 

I snapped back into reality at the sound of her clearing her throat and arching an eyebrow expectantly. “Sorry, what?” I shook my head, finally registering that she had spoken. She motioned to my toothbrush. “Oh, yeah, let me check...” I leaned down to fumble through the cabinet underneath the sink, shoving aside spare bars of soap and bottles of shampoo to pull out a green toothbrush. “Here you go. You can use my toothpaste,” I said, handing over the toothbrush and swiveling around so she was standing in front of the mirror and I took her place in the doorway.

“Thanks,” Katniss smiled softly, looking down at the stick of plastic in her hands. “You know, green’s my favorite color.”

“I know,” I mused, eyes wide like a lovesick puppy. But the puzzled look she shot back sent me into a panic because _why would I know that? I’m not supposed to know that!_ “I mean, uh, I think you must have mentioned that before,” I stammered out, even though we both knew that couldn’t be true since we’d never had a friendly conversation before. “I’ll be downstairs,” I said firmly, racing for the stairs before she had a chance to respond.

Thankfully, I found that Johanna must have left with Finnick and Annie, although none of them had made any effort to pick up the mass assortment of garbage strewn across my house. There was even a bra tossed behind the couch that made me wonder if I should add the couch cushion covers to the washing machine along with Finnick and Annie’s sheets. I shivered at the thought of what could have occurred in the living room after I had retired to my room for the night, not trusting Rye to keep an eye on a flock of rambunctious teens. 

“Ready to go?” Katniss creeped up on me again, although that time her voice was a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

“Yep,” I answered, grabbing the keys to mine and Rye’s shared car. “How do you do that?” I asked with reverence as we stepped outside onto the front porch.

“Do what?” she exhaled, watching her breath materialize into vapor in front of her face. It was a beautiful day to start a new year, the sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. But, unfortunately, the sun had no impact on the near-arctic temperatures, and I had to fight the impulse to wrap my arms around Katniss for warmth.

“Walk around without making any noise,” I explained, picking up my pace to escape the cold faster. “You keep sneaking up on me.” I figured it was a harmless question, but her expression had shifted. She didn’t say a word until we were both situated inside the car.

“I spent a lot of time with my dad in the woods behind our house when I was younger,” she shrugged nonchalantly, but a look of sadness had taken over her face and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I vaguely remembered hearing about her father passing away in a work accident a few years ago and instantly regretted resurfacing that grief. “He taught me how to walk without disturbing the wildlife.” I decided not to ask any more questions, clearly having set off a more somber memory for her.

“Let’s get you back home,” I prompted softly, turning the keys in the ignition. She agreed by buckling her seatbelt and focusing her gaze out the window.

The first few minutes of the drive were painfully quiet. Katniss wouldn’t even spare a glance at me as I attempted light conversation, so eventually I gave up. I wasn’t sure if it was because she felt uncomfortable after our night together, or if the mention of her father had struck a chord with her, but either way I felt awful and craved any kind of break from the silence.

“How about some music, hm?” I reached over to turn the radio on while we were stopped at a red light, and it immediately began blasting some tacky Top 10 hit. Rye must have left it on the Pop station the last time he had taken the car out. His taste in music was lacking, to say the least. Both Katniss and I groaned at the song and I shut it off as quickly as I had turned it on. I changed my course of action to the other side of the dashboard to click on the CD player, silently praying that Rye hadn’t left his Britney Spears disc in again. Luckily, one of my own CD’s began playing, and she surprisingly perked up.

“I love this album,” Katniss beamed, allowing a full smile to overtake her face for the first time that morning. It sent a surge of happiness down my own spine.

“You like The Shins?” I recognized the song from their album _Chutes Too Narrow_. She nodded enthusiastically. “Me too. They’re one of my favorite bands,” I said with a smile back.

“Cool,” was all she replied with, but it was enough for me. Content with our brief exchange and newfound common interest, I relaxed enough to discreetly watch her mutely mouth the lyrics from the corner of my eye. But as I drove, I grew perplexed as to why she seemed to hold back from letting any sound escape her lips. Katniss used to sing constantly when we were kids. The distinct melodies of her made-up songs were constantly floating by in the breeze across the playground or echoing in the hallways between classes. It hit me then just how long it had been since I last heard her sing freely, and I suddenly longed to be reminded of the ways she could expertly guide her voice through a song.

Only once did she allow a single line to break through the sound barrier, her voice light as a feather and smooth as butter as she faintly sang, _but your memory is here, and I’d like it to stay; warm light on a winter's day_. I tried not to read into her decision to sing that particular line, forcing myself not to wonder whose memory warmed her on that cold morning. Well, more like forcing myself _not_ to hope it was mine. But, of course, that’s exactly what I did.

God, I was so gone for that girl.

I heard her stomach grumble in the silence that followed the transition from one song to another. She hugged her arms around her middle as if that would muffle the noise, but it was too late.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know the answer. “We can stop and get some breakfast if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” she countered, but I had already begun to alter our course. “I’ll just eat a granola bar or something at home. Besides, I don’t have any money on me.” 

“Oh, you won’t need any money where I’m taking you,” I smirked, eliciting a stunned reaction from Katniss.

“Seriously?” she asked in a high-pitched tone. “I didn’t take you for the dine and dash type, Mellark.”

“First of all, as a man who greatly appreciates the culinary arts, I would _never_ do that,” I asserted. She just laughed in response, rolling her eyes. “Second, we don’t have to pay because I happen to own the place.” At that, the grin dropped right off of Katniss’s face.

“Wait. What?” But I could see the gears turning in her head and she quickly answered her own question, albeit with a rather unsteady voice. “You mean your family’s bakery?” I knew that she was familiar with our business after years of watching her stare through the windows at the front of the shop as she walked by. Sometimes, our eyes would even meet through the glass. But I had never once seen Katniss step foot inside.

I nodded, proud of my idea. “My dad won’t be back in town until tomorrow so the bakery’s closed today, but lucky for you, I know the keycode for the back door.”

“Oh, so I’ll have my pick of whatever two-day-old pastries I want?” she teased, clearly having regained her confidence after the initial shock of my announcement. I nearly lost it when she put on some posh accent and leaned over the console that separated us, batting her eyelashes dramatically as she said, “You’re my hero, Peeta Mellark.” She barely got the words out without bursting into a fit of hysterics, but I didn’t care if she fully meant it as a joke - just hearing her say those words set loose a hundred butterflies inside me. If she noticed the scarlet tinge on my cheeks she didn’t mention it, instead saying, “Also, you don’t get to say _you_ own the place. Your dad owns it, you’re not even legally an adult yet.”

We kept up an easy banter for the rest of the short drive to the bakery. It was almost the perfect halfway point between our two houses, so it didn’t require much of a detour from our original route. She stayed a few paces behind me as I approached the rear entrance of the building and stepped inside, but I heard her inhale deeply as the blended scents of cinnamon and vanilla mingled in the air between us. I turned my head just in time to see her eyelids flutter shut and her jaw drop open slightly, as if she was beckoning the aroma closer. 

“Not exactly the reaction I expected for _two-day-old pastries_.” I mocked the words she had used - it served her right for talking down to my food. 

Katniss’s face snapped back into a frown as I nudged her shoulder with my own. “Shut up and feed me,” she ordered, but there was a hint of sweetness in her expression as she elbowed me back. That was the most physical contact we had exchanged since waking up, and I took note to bring her food more often.

I hesitated for a moment, considering taking her hand in my own and guiding her to the display case in the front of the store myself, but I didn’t want to push my luck. Instead, I settled on snatching a spare apron and pulling it over my head, mimicking the same lavish accent Katniss had assumed in the car. “What can I get for you, Miss Everdeen?”

Katniss played along, taking her place on the opposite side of the glass case. “I’ll take your finest blueberry scone,” she enunciated elegantly, even adding a raised pinky for extra effect. “Throw in a slice of lemon pound cake. And a chocolate chip muffin. Oh, and definitely a couple of those,” she added, pointing at the cheese buns. 

“Maybe I should rephrase my question - is there anything you _don’t_ want?” We both examined the platter I had stacked full of sweets, which was threatening to tip over. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “That’ll do. For now.” I had a feeling her eyes were hungrier than her stomach, though, so I elected to bring two forks and settled the singular plate between us at a table close to the window. “I didn’t say I would share,” she commented, but didn’t protest any further as I swooped in on a corner of the lemon cake. 

“Okay, I take back whatever I said before,” Katniss announced at the end of our meal. We had devoured the samples of each pastry, but she seemed to favor the cheese covered rolls most. “That was actually better than most fresh food.” The way she leaned back in her chair and patted a hand over her stomach in satisfaction told me she wasn’t lying. 

“You should stop by when we’re actually open. It’s even better when it’s right out of the oven.” Although my offer was genuine, the proposition of her coming back to the bakery shifted the mood. Katniss tensed up in her chair and redirected her attention to the crumbs on the plate, using her fork to rearrange them. 

It occurred to me then that there was a very high chance I wouldn’t be seeing her again. At least, not in the same setting. Sure, we’d continue to pass each other in the hallways at school - hell, we even had English class together - but we may never revel in the peaceful intimacy that enveloped us on that quiet morning in the bakery. I swallowed the unsetting thought that Katniss might even go back to loathing me after I dropped her off at home, piercing the bubble that protected the alternate universe we had lived in for the last twenty-four hours.

“Truth or dare?” Katniss said meekly. She appeared to be as surprised at her question as I was. Maybe her train of thought had been running along the same track as mine and she, too, longed for one final reminder of our time together. 

“Truth.” _Here goes nothing_.

I could tell that I had given her the response she hoped to hear. “Last night, right before midnight-” _right after I had my tongue inside you_ , I corrected her in my mind - “you said that you… you had wanted to do that _forever_?”

Of all the things I had anticipated, Katniss bringing up my bliss-driven comment about how long I had wanted to taste her was not on my list. Other than the fleeting mention of our exchange in the bathroom, we hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of our drunken rendezvous.

“What did you mean by that?”

What _did_ I mean by that? That I had thought about her every night since I was twelve? That I had dreamt of the way her lips would feel, and how they would move against mine? That I had imagined her in my bed, picturing all the ways I could bring her to ecstasy? Something told me none of those answers would do much to help my case.

“I…”

“I mean, I guess all teenage guys think about that sort of thing, right?” she asked, trying to make sense of the statement in the absence of my answer. But excusing it as a hormonal comment about wanting to get to third base with any girl in general? She couldn’t have possibly thought that was what I had been referring to. No, something told me that Katniss was implying that my revelation meant nothing because that was what she _wanted_ to hear, not what she genuinely believed.

That left me with two options. Latch onto her suggestion like a last lifeline and brush off my confession as a fit of teenage horniness, or admit my near decade-long infatuation with her and try to convince her that we were soulmates. I was at a crossroads. But, although the word truth was in the name of the game, I knew I’d have to hold back if I wanted to keep Katniss in my life for longer than a day.

“Uh, yeah. That’s… that's what I meant.” I tried to sound confident but my voice betrayed me, cracking like a prepubescent middle schooler talking to his crush for the first time. That’s certainly what I felt like, anyway.

But all she did was shrug and softly mutter an “okay”, signaling that my turn was over.

“Alright, truth or dare?” I turned the game around on her, deciding that one of us might as well get some actual answers. 

She chose truth, almost as if there was an unspoken understanding between us that, after a long night of dares, we both needed a morning of clarity. And there had been a question lingering in the back of my mind for a while - nine years, to be exact.

“Why do you hate me?” I probably could have phrased it more eloquently, but the curt question was aimed at the heart of our problems. 

“You’re kidding, right?” Katniss’s face contorted into a look of utter disbelief. “You seriously don’t remember?” she accused in a grave tone.

“Uh… no?” I wondered how such a life-altering moment, one that caused Katniss to spite me for the greater part of our young lives, could have slipped from my mind. I felt a twinge of shame knowing that whatever event she was referring to must have left a considerable impact on her while I walked away with a clean conscience. 

“Second grade? Choir class?” she enumerated, as though the connection between those things and the cause for her contempt was obvious.

I remembered that class; it was the first place I had ever heard Katniss sing without any distractions. In fact, that class produced some of my fondest memories of her - so how could it have turned so sour for her? “You… hate me because of an elementary school music class?” Was she kidding?

“You and your dumb friends laughed at me! You embarrassed me in front of everyone!” It took me a minute to register what she was referring to, but once I realized, I couldn’t hold back a roar of laughter. “Yeah, exactly like that!” 

“Katniss, nobody was laughing at you. _I_ wasn’t even laughing at all!” I panted out, but she crossed her arms suspiciously. It probably wasn’t helping that I appeared to be laughing at her in that instant too, so I forced myself to pull it together. “Cato and Marvel were laughing at _me_ because I had made some sappy comment about how pretty your voice was. They said I was whipped.”

Her eyes narrowed to a skeptical squint. “So… they were laughing at you? Not me?”

“They definitely weren’t laughing at you. Cato almost passed out when he realized you were heading toward us. And I think I nearly threw up.” That incident had seemed so insignificant at the time. Even in elementary school Katniss was well known for speaking her mind and putting people in their place, so sure, she had scared the living daylights out of me, but it wasn’t particularly unusual for her. I must have been too oblivious at the time to detect the gradual changes in her demeanor toward me after that confrontation in the music room. 

Katniss debated my side of the story, her disposition growing from defensive to pensive. “You did look like you were going to pee your pants,” she eventually admitted, her face lighting up at the memory of my fear. A tint of her natural glow returned to her olive complexion.

“Oh, I totally was. It’s not every day that a cute girl goes from singing like an angel to threatening to bust your lip open.”

The corners of her mouth quirked up at my obvious compliment. “Yeah, well, I am versatile,” she quipped, accepting my explanation of the matter while ignoring my admittance of admiration toward her singing voice.

>

“So, am I forgiven?” I asked smugly, tapping my foot against hers beneath the table. She recoiled her limbs and stood abruptly, making her way to the back of the bakery while I was frozen in place, captivated. I had watched Katniss walk away from me for years, studying the pattern of her steps and sway of her hips like it was my religion, so I was quick to pick up on the seductive saunter she added to her stride. She knew that my eyes were on her. I looked on with fascination as she filled a glass with water from the faucet, and I could have sworn she even licked her lips suggestively at me as she set the cup back down on the counter. The entire act was obscene - did she want me to _beg_ for mercy?

“For indirectly publicly humiliating me when I was seven? Sure, you’re forgiven for that.” She smiled wickedly, making her way back over to me. “But for that attempt at footsie just then?” She wagged her finger at where my leg tapped anxiously under the table. “I won’t let you off the hook so easily for that.”

That was new territory. In some ways, flirting with Katniss was even more intimate than kissing her. I hoped that there would be more of both in my future.

Twenty minutes later I found myself parked outside Katniss’s house, clinging to any last hope that our time together wouldn’t have to end. I was priding myself on becoming somewhat of an expert when it came to reading her facial expressions, but it seemed I had widely miscalculated when I leaned over to kiss her goodbye.

“Peeta, I can't.” Her voice came out strained. “Last night was…”

“Spectacular?” I offered. My hand had been halfway to caressing her cheek when she stopped me, but I let it continue its path toward her to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My imagination seemed to be playing tricks on me as I almost thought I felt her lean into my embrace. 

“Unexpected,” she corrected me. “But it doesn’t change the fact that we barely know each other, and that I’ve spent over half of my life cursing the ground you walk on.” I had an inkling that she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince me. 

“So… where do we go from here?”

In response, she leaned over to kiss my cheek gingerly, lingering just long enough so I could memorize the array of freckles on the side of her face like constellations in the night sky. “Happy New Year,” she whispered, just as she had done after the clock struck midnight so many hours earlier, before leaping out of the passenger door and disappearing. 

Somehow, Katniss managed to leave me even more confused than I had been when I had woken. But it was alright. I didn’t mind a challenge. And if I knew one thing for sure, it was that Katniss Everdeen was worth fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! as always, drop a kudos or comment to let me know you liked it, and i’ll keep writing as often as i can! in the meantime you can find me on tumblr @thewritershae
> 
> ps the song peeta and katniss listen to in the car is pink bullets by the shins, i feel like that whole album would fit their taste in music and would definitely recommend giving it a listen if you’re interested :)


	3. Katniss's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Katniss: you’ve been waiting to hear from me all week. true or not true?_
> 
> _It was bold. Admittedly less bold than when I had let him carry me into his bedroom and have his way with me, but still nerve wracking, nonetheless. I wasn’t used to flirting with anyone, much less a guy who I had considered an enemy for so long. Yet somehow, between the playful way we had behaved in the bakery and his almost instantaneous responses to my texts, Peeta made our conversations come easily. Which was why I wasn’t surprised to see his next message pop up only seconds later._
> 
> _Peeta: definitely true_
> 
> or,
> 
> Katniss has made her decision: her fling with Peeta Mellark will remain just that - a fling. Only, it doesn’t help that everyone around her won’t stop asking about him. Or that she can’t stop thinking about him. Man, is she screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed so far!! your kudos and comments seriously bring such a big smile to my face and inspire me to keep writing :)
> 
> we’re back to katniss’s point of view for this chapter and everlark starts to take some big steps toward the end so let me know if you like where it’s headed!

Something was wrong with me. Very, very wrong. It was as if I had somehow woken up on the right side of the bed for the first time in my life. Only it wasn’t my bed. It was Peeta Mellark’s.

As I slowly began to stir awake, my first thought was of warmth. I felt it flood through my limbs and envelope my very being. The rest of my senses gradually followed, and I recognized that I was swaddled in a scent that unmistakably screamed of sugar and spice. Instinctively, I wriggled closer to the sweet smell. It wasn’t until my cheek pressed against the hot skin of the baker boy’s chest that I began to connect the dots and the alarm set in.

When my eyes finally darted open, I found Peeta’s already fixed on me, watching me sleep. Of course. He was always watching me, painting a picture in his head. But the more disturbing realization was that I didn’t mind. All it took was one look at both of our bare bodies for the memories of the night before to come rushing back, and the lingering sense of pleasure overtook any semblance of embarrassment or outrage. I had never done more than kiss a guy before, much less been naked in front of one, but the way Peeta had been so intent on making me feel good put me at ease. If anything, _he_ seemed considerably more worked up than I was, and I even had to exaggerate a headache as an excuse for why I was being so uncharacteristically level headed.

The entire morning was a continuation of that internal struggle between the part of me that had fought so long to preserve the barriers I’d built, and the newly discovered side that melted into Peeta’s touch. And, sure, maybe my behavior had been a little suggestive at the bakery, but I was only having fun.

The gravity of my actions didn’t actually set in until he attempted to kiss me outside of my house. We spent nearly two hours tiptoeing around the very obvious fact that our romantic endeavor had crossed many, _many_ deep boundaries, but with his lips just inches away from my own, I decided that I could no longer ignore the reality of the situation. So, I made a decision.

I ran.

It was no different than what I’d always done, really. For my whole life, every disagreement with my mother or clash with Gale had sent me flying into the woods as an escape mechanism. After my father died, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever come back out of the forest.

The urge to crawl back in and disappear beneath the brush was compelling as I sprung free from Peeta’s car, but I knew I had already been gone much longer than my family expected. Reluctantly, I forced my feet to carry me to the front door of my house rather than my usual spot among the trees.

I refused to turn around as I raced up the sidewalk, not wanting to see if Peeta was still parked at the end of my driveway. But I didn’t need to look back to know that he was. Certainly he would be waiting to make sure I got inside okay - it was the polite thing to do, after all, and Peeta was one of the most polite people I had ever encountered. Up until then, his incessant manners had been among my least favorite things about him, but my brain was so scrambled that I couldn’t separate the things I hated from the things I admired. Maybe there wasn’t really a difference between the two.

It wasn’t until my hand was clenching the door knob that I realized I didn’t have my key with me. I let out a huff of frustration and, without turning to face the road, shuffled around the hedges that lined the facade of my house and darted toward the back door that led into the kitchen. The bolt had broken on the flimsy lock years ago and we’d never bothered to replace it, leaving it as an open entrance for anyone who dared disturb the Everdeen women. I took a few deep breaths to regain my composure before flinging the door open and stepping directly into the gaze of my mother and sister.

None of us moved, like three deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck that materialized out of thin air. I observed that both of them had clearly already showered and were dressed for the day. Meanwhile, I must have looked like a frazzled mess dressed in wrinkled clothes that only half belonged to me with my hair tossed in a braid that had long come undone. A glance at the clock above the stovetop told me that it was 12:30 in the afternoon - where had the day gone?

My mother was seated at the small table by the window, sipping on her mid-day coffee while reading the same book she had been skimming for months. Across the room, Prim seemed to be continuing her efforts at teaching Buttercup to hand her his paw, but the scruffy old cat was clearly only in it for the treats.

Our mom was the first to break the silence. “Hi dear,” she said carefully. The way she peered at me over the rim of her coffee mug made me feel like a stranger in my own home. The two of us had never been close, but in recent years she had taken to approaching me with utmost caution, and I usually did the same. Neither of us wanted to set the other off. “Did Gale drive you home?” 

Right. As far as my family knew, I had spent a calm, quiet evening with my two closest friends. The name Peeta Mellark didn’t even exist to them, and I was going to make sure it stayed that way.

“Yep,” I responded casually, opening the fridge for a glass of water. “ He says hello.” Prim eyed me mischievously from her seat at the kitchen counter as I sipped the contents of the glass. I pretended not to notice. “Madge does too.”

“Well, that’s nice,” my mother said, not bothering to express her well wishes back. At least she seemed content with my answer. “Did you three have fun?” she asked out of courtesy.

 _Fun_ was certainly one way to describe it. “Yeah, it was good. Same as every year,” I shrugged, hoping that my relaxed demeanor wasn’t coming off as too forced. But she just hummed pleasantly in response, turning the page of her book and lifting the coffee mug to her lips. I set my own empty glass in the sink and was about to head upstairs when Prim spoke out for the first time.

“You didn’t bring any of your snacks with you,” she said suspiciously. I followed her narrowed gaze to the open pantry and was met with the sight of my stash of junk food, sitting exactly where I had left it the day before. Prim’s remark drew my mother back into the conversation as well, and they both looked at me questioningly.

“Oh, um…” _Think Katniss, think_ , I scolded myself. They knew that providing the assortment of junk food for our trio’s annual New Year’s Eve anti-celebration had always been my job, and it was no secret that I took great pride in my expert snack-selecting abilities. But there had to be at least _one_ plausible reason as to why I had abandoned my role, if only I could think of it. “Madge’s parents had a ton of food leftover from a business meeting a few days ago,” I lied. “They didn’t want it to go to waste, so I left my stuff at home this year.” My mom commented on how generous that was of them, but Prim didn’t seem convinced. In fact, she had been giving me a calculated look ever since I barged through the door.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” I announced, tearing my eyes away from Prim’s intense stare and fleeing the kitchen.

Twenty minutes and three rounds of shampoo later, I felt sufficiently like myself again. It had been thrilling to play pretend and imagine a world where Peeta and I could be friends - or _more_ than friends - but I found clarity in my time alone and resolved to leave our night of reckless passion in the past. Deep down, I knew that it had to be that way.

I just couldn’t quite convince myself why.

“So, you had fun last night?” The sound of Prim’s voice knocked me from my thoughts and nearly caused me to trip over my own feet. She was perched on my bed waiting for me to return from the shower, clearly having no regard for my privacy.

“Yes, I thought I already told you that.” I tried to speak as gently as possible, not wanting to snap at her. The younger girl seemed to have never learned boundaries, always popping up at the most inconvenient times and places, eager to talk about anything and everything. If I wasn’t so caught up with my own problems I would have been more than happy to entertain her, but I desperately craved some time alone. Besides, my still-wet hair was dripping onto the floor and I longed to forgo the damp towel that hung around me in favor of some warm pajamas. “How was Rue’s?” I made a weak attempt at changing the topic, hoping I could find a way to coax her to leave my room.

“It was great!” She visibly perked up, her blue eyes gleaming. That was unexpected. Prim almost never gave in to my efforts at diversion. “Her mom ordered pizza and got us cute hats that say Happy New Year,” she squeaked.

I took that as the perfect opportunity to direct her back to her own bedroom. “That sounds awesome, little duck. How about you go put it on and I’ll come see you once I’m dressed?” I smiled at Prim’s youthful delight in the smallest of things.

But alas, my efforts were unsuccessful. “Maybe later,” she replied, still giggling. As she spoke, my sister’s sweet face broke into a conniving grin. “Anyway, mom didn’t pick me up until over an hour after midnight.” Prim continued her story, clearly very excited about being allowed to stay up so late after her bedtime. “But the best part of the night was when Rue’s older brother came home.” She recalled that last fact in a tone that was anything but innocent.

And that’s when it clicked. Why Prim had been sizing me up ever since I got home; why she cornered me the second she could get me alone; why she was obsessing over the events of New Year’s Eve. Because I knew Rue’s brother. His name was Thresh. He was a senior at my school, same as Gale. And he had most certainly been at the Mellark’s party.

“Prim, I really need to get dressed-”

But there was no escaping her confrontation. Prim had me right where she wanted me. I should have known. I was the one who taught her all of her best techniques. “He told us about this crazy party he went to. Apparently, some brothers at your school throw one every year - maybe you’ve heard of it?” she asked slyly, cocking an eyebrow. The gesture made her look disturbingly like me. “The best part was this story about some girl who got dared to-” 

“ _Prim_.” It was my turn to cut her off. I had heard enough, and I was not about to listen to my baby sister narrate my own drunken stunt back to me. I needed to get out of there, but where could I have gone? We were already in my room, and I couldn’t have gone outside in the frost donning just my towel. “Please,” I begged, “can we not do this?”

“So it _was_ you!” She practically pounced at my roundabout admission of what she already knew. “Was it a big party? How many people were there? Who was the guy? Is he your boyfriend?” Prim’s flurry of questions blurred into one as I tried to block them out altogether. The last thing I needed was her quizzing me about Peeta. I’d never hear the end of it if she let word of my escapade get back to our mom.

“Don’t worry about it.” The terse response was the only answer I could produce for all of her questions. “Thresh was way out of line in telling you all that, and besides, you’re too young to be thinking about that stuff. _Especially_ boys,” I told her sternly. I would not allow my twelve-year-old sister to romanticize my less than graceful behavior.

“I am not!” she huffed, pouting and folding her arms over her chest. The childish maneuver did nothing to help her case. “I talk to plenty of boys. Just the other day Rory Hawthorne asked me-”

“Oh, _absolutely_ not,” I interrupted. I mirrored Prim by crossing my own arms, but in an authoritative way rather than a defiant one. “Stay away from those Hawthorne boys. They’re nothing but trouble.”

“But you’re best friends with Gale!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air at my hypocrisy. I had to admit, it was the slightest bit amusing. Plus, at least she was distracted from grilling me about the party.

I shrugged dismissively, showing her that I was still the boss. “That’s only because he knows I can kick his ass whenever I need to.”

Prim considered my point and seemed to concede - she had seen me whip Gale into shape plenty of times. Still, I could tell she wasn’t entirely pleased with the situation, considering I had managed to turn her investigation on my wild night into a lesson for her. “You’re really not gonna tell me anything about the party?” she asked. The look on her face could only be described as pitiful. “Isn’t that what big sisters are for?”

Just as I knew each of Prim’s weaknesses, she knew all of my most vulnerable areas, too. And there was no way I could deny her when she flashed those big, pleading eyes. “Okay.” I surrendered. “You get one question. Better make it good.”

Prim’s demeanor shifted immediately, reverting back to the smug attitude she had worn when I first walked into the room. I already regretted my decision. “Whose sweatshirt were you wearing when you came home?”

I wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. Of course that would be the biggest detail she picked up on. I couldn’t very well tell her that it belonged to the boy who I had shared a bed with only hours earlier, but she’d certainly see through any lie I conceived, leaving me with no option but to roll my eyes and softly shout at her to “Get out!”

The younger girl bounced off my bed amicably, smiling because she knew she had won even though I hadn’t given her a straight answer. I watched as my sister pranced into her own room and sighed, unable to find the strength to be mad at her. Even in her most devious moments I couldn’t look past the innocence and virtue that she radiated, and I longed to latch onto it for as long as possible.

Any desire to be left alone with my thoughts quickly dissipated after my run-in with Prim. I pulled my towel-dried hair back into a neat braid and was finally able to bundle up in sweatpants and a hoodie of my own, but the measures did little to comfort me. Luckily, I still had a number of unanswered calls and texts from Madge to provide an ample distraction.

“So you _are_ alive,” my friend jeered after just one ring. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had been waiting by the phone all day.

“Yes, unfortunately,” I sighed into the receiver. “Although I barely made it out of an interrogation from Prim.”

“No way,” Madge gasped. “Hold on.” Her voice became distant and I could hear her fumble with her phone for a moment. “Okay, I have you on speaker, Gale’s here with me. Now tell us everything!”

“Uh, maybe not _everything_ ,” I heard Gale grumble from somewhere next to her, clearly much less comfortable discussing my rendezvous than his girlfriend was. Then again, he must have had his fair share of New Year’s romance if he was still at Madge’s house, likely never having left after dropping her off from the Mellark’s party.

“I’m with Gale on this one. He’s kind of the last thing I want to talk about,” I answered. I couldn’t even bring myself to say Peeta’s name aloud.

“Come on, Katniss,” Madge implored. “You spent the night at his house. In his _bed_ , for all we know.” I envisioned Gale wincing in response to her claims and it admittedly cheered me up a bit. “You’ve gotta give us something.”

“There’s not much to say,” I started. I did feel slightly guilty for abandoning my friends, even if it hadn’t been my intention. The least I could do was give her some sort of explanation as to why I disappeared with Peeta in the middle of the night and ignored all of her messages. “After the dare happened, I went upstairs to the bathroom. Peeta followed me and we ended up...talking.” 

“ _Talking_?” Madge challenged. “That’s _it_?” To anyone who didn’t know Madge as well as I, it would have been shocking to hear the normally shy, reserved girl speak so presumptuously, but I had come to learn that the well-behaved Mayor’s daughter could be even more exuberant than Johanna when she was with those she felt closest to. In a way, we helped draw one another out of our comfort zones - but as she quizzed me on my sex life, I desperately craved to crawl back inside mine.

“Well, not exactly…” I trailed off again. It wasn’t a total lie. Peeta and I had exchanged a few words in the midst of our other activities, but I was definitely leaving out the bigger parts of the night. “It’s weird talking about it on the phone.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Madge said in a tone that definitely made me worry. “I made us plans with Annie and Jo for a girl’s lunch at Sae’s Cafe tomorrow, so you can tell us all what happened in person.” Before I could refuse, she added, “And if you still don’t feel like telling us, I’m sure Jo will have plenty to share. Based on what I’ve heard, she got a front row show this morning.”

I expected nothing less than for Johanna to quickly spread word of her running in on Peeta and I in his bedroom, but hearing Madge confirm it only made me groan in misery. I had no choice but to join them for lunch tomorrow, even if it killed me. “Can’t wait,” I grimaced. At least I could push off talking about my conflicting feelings for Peeta one more day.

“I’ll pick you up at noon!” Madge shouted before hanging up. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand beside my bed and resolved to not look at it again until it was time to leave my house the next day. Which, to no surprise, approached much more quickly than I had wished.

“So, Everdeen,” Jo goaded from her seat in the booth across from me, gnawing at a french fry and likely imagining it was my head. I had mostly kept my mouth shut for the first twenty minutes or so of our get-together, but once the food arrived and everyone’s appetite was satiated, all attention fell on me. I braced myself for whatever Johanna was about to say. “You finally got laid. I believe you should be thanking me.”

“Actually, I’m much more interested in hearing about your night with Rye,” I shot back, hoping to turn the spotlight around on her so that no one could notice me choking on air at her implication that Peeta and I had sex. But Annie and Madge looked unmoved by my announcement of her encounter with the older Mellark brother, and Johanna herself waved it off as if it were nothing. “Seriously?!” I cried. “Nobody cares that she hooked up with him?”

Jo snorted at my flimsy attempt at deflection and Annie voiced what we were all already thinking as she said, “Not really, she hooks up with _everyone_.”

I tossed my head back in frustration at the failure of my plan. “What’s the matter Katniss?” Jo coaxed. “You want some of this too?” I blushed furiously as she winked and pretended to blow me a kiss, sending Annie and Madge into a fit of laughter. I was beginning to think that the entire lunch had been coordinated to humiliate me.

Rather than give Johanna the satisfaction of an answer, I filled my mouth with as much of my cheeseburger as possible to indicate that I wouldn’t speak. 

“I don’t know why we bothered to invite Snow White over here anyway,” Jo mocked, jabbing her thumb in my direction as if I couldn’t hear her loud and clear. “She’s too pure to even say the word penis, much less tell us what she did with Peeta’s.”

It turned out to be a huge mistake to try and stuff my face with food, seeing as how Johanna’s rather crude remarks caused me to nearly spit out half of my meal. Madge was quick to pat me on the back for support, but her gentle taps did nothing to help me from suffocating in my own shame and half-chewed sandwich. “Come on, Jo. Don’t kill her,” the blonde said with undertones of sympathy in her voice.

“Whatever,” Jo murmured, downing the rest of her milkshake. The flush that spread from my cheeks had reached the tips of my ears all the way down my neck, both from the mortification and the lack of airflow.

“Have you talked to him at all since yesterday?” Annie asked once I had filled my lungs again. Bless her for changing the course of the conversation to a less X-rated route.

“No,” I answered firmly. “And I don't plan on it.” Evidently that wasn’t the answer they had expected, for I had three pairs of eyes gawking at me. “What? I don’t even have his phone number,” I said, swirling a stray fry in circles through ketchup. “And it’s not like it meant anything.”

“If it didn’t mean anything, then why are you so scared to talk about it?” Madge’s question was meant to be harmless, but it struck a chord within me.

“I’m not!” I exclaimed, throwing the french fry back onto my plate and splattering ketchup across the white surface. “I’m not scared,” I repeated, calmer that time, but still heated inside. It wasn’t like I was _avoiding_ the conversation about Peeta.

Well, that was exactly what I was doing, but not for the reason Madge was implying.

“Here, I’m sending you his number,” Annie said, whipping out her phone. “You don’t have to do anything with it, but don’t delete it yet. Reach out to him when you’re ready.” The way that she spoke with such composure and genuine kindness helped to drill some reason back into me, and I nodded my head in agreement. I would accept Peeta’s phone number, but that didn’t mean I ever planned on using it. 

The rest of lunch went by as smoothly as it possibly could, with the other girls sharing snippets of their own midnight kisses and Johanna going into explicit detail on her seemingly sleepless night with Rye Mellark.

“Are you going to see him again?” Annie asked. 

But Jo shook her head and took on a solemn tone as she cryptically replied with, “No, I’ve got my sights set on someone new.”

By the time we split the check and everyone headed to their respective cars, with me following in Madge’s footsteps, my nerves were completely at ease. That is, until she pulled into my driveway and I turned to hug her goodbye. She paused before returning my embrace, staring at me in the passenger seat. “Is that a new sweatshirt?”

How I had managed to go the entire lunch without realizing what I had subconsciously slipped on that morning was beyond me, but when I looked down to take in the sight of Peeta’s sky blue hoodie wrapped around my torso, I had to muster all of my willpower to stop myself from screaming at the top of my lungs and tearing it off right there in her car.

“Yeah, I think so.” My voice came out garbled and high pitched, and I silently prayed that Madge wouldn’t ask any further questions.

“That color looks nice on you,” she smiled sweetly. We bid our farewells and, for the second time in two days, I found myself running inside my house in an attempt to escape Peeta’s grasp. But my efforts were in vain. Even as I trudged into my bedroom and secured the door shut behind me, I couldn’t bring myself to strip free of the garment. Instead, I let it swallow me whole and stayed in bed until my mother called me down for dinner, spending the rest of the day wondering what I was going to do about my affinity for my mortal enemy.

School started up again the next day, with Monday marking the first new week of the new year. I didn’t usually buy into the sappy sayings about how January marked a time for fresh beginnings, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel like a completely different person than the girl who had walked those halls just two weeks prior.

My heart quite literally skipped a beat the first time I saw Peeta. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about that - I was used to the jolt of electricity that perpetually accompanied his presence - but rather than channeling that spark into hatred, my feelings wandered toward desire. I slammed my locker shut in an attempt to shake it off, but I could still feel his eyes boring holes into the back of my head as I walked away. And I liked it.

Other than offhandedly passing each other in the hallway, Peeta and I only saw one another in Mr. Abernathy’s English class. I had spent the weekend preparing myself to be in the same room as him again, and even though we sat in opposite corners, I couldn’t ignore the charge of energy he sent down my spine.

We continued like that for the entire week, exchanging ambiguous glances from behind our lockers and pointedly avoiding each other in our one shared class, until I decided I couldn’t take it any longer. Annie had advised me to break the silence when I was ready, and after five long days of dodging the bullet, I figured I was as ready as I’d ever be.

Without waiting to get home, I pulled my phone out and typed Peeta’s name into the message bar from the back row of the school bus. It seemed like I was the only one of my friends left who didn’t have their license and was still forced to ride the obscene yellow death trap, but I figured if there was one thing that could take my mind off the horrors of the hell on wheels, it was texting Peeta Mellark. Nothing says conquering one’s fear by plunging headfirst into another, right?

_Katniss: truth or dare?_

I skipped the niceties and dove straight in. Despite my initial refusal at making contact, I had actually put a great deal of thought into what I would say to Peeta ever since Annie first sent me his phone number, so I didn’t allow my fingers to hesitate before pressing send. I even went so far as to tell myself that I wouldn’t check to see if he had responded until I got home, but my phone lit up again before I could place it back in my bag.

_Peeta: Katniss?_

I smirked at my screen as I typed out my response. He really made it too easy to tease him.

_Katniss: that wasn’t one of the choices_

“Kid, this is your stop,” the bus driver shouted at me from the front of the vehicle. I hadn’t noticed that everyone else had slowly filed out, leaving me as its last passenger.

I rushed to pack my belongings and clamber out of the bus. “Have a good day, Mr. Snow,” I mumbled to the driver as I disembarked. The old man gave me a snake-like look with bloodshot eyes as he drove away, and I couldn’t help but shudder at the impression that he would have made a terrifying villain in another life.

My phone buzzed again as I bounded up the sidewalk toward my porch, but I practiced some self restraint and decided to wait until I was in my own room to read Peeta’s message. 

“What are you smiling about?” my mother asked as I strode through the front door. We were only crossing each other’s paths for a moment before she headed off for her shift at the hospital.

“Nothing,” I answered in a sing-song voice, sounding like a giddy schoolgirl. Usually I would regard such behavior as repulsive, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “Will I see you tonight?” I called out to my mom as I ascended the stairs.

“Probably not, I’m working late again,” she panted. I leaned over the railing to watch her run from room to room to fetch loose items, darting into the living room to pull on her sneakers, then racing to the kitchen to shrug on her coat, only to retreat back to the living room to retrieve her car keys. “There’s dinner in the fridge. Make sure Prim eats.”

“I will,” I said in a pleasant tone. Normally I would have issued some scathing remark about how I _always_ made sure Prim was fed, more so than she did, but the urge to get back to Peeta surpassed my will to argue.

I scaled the rest of the stairs and crashed onto my bed, kicking my shoes off and dropping my backpack to the floor. Once I was settled. I finally drew my phone back into view and read Peeta’s one word answer.

_Peeta: truth_

Truth. What was I supposed to do with that? I may have been well prepared to send my first message, but I didn’t have the foresight to plan out what my response would be to whichever option he ended up choosing - _especially_ truth. So, naturally, I resorted to taunting him to buy me more time.

_Katniss: not feeling very adventurous today, hm?_

But Peeta was evidently not in the mood to beat around the bush.

_Peeta: just ask me!_

Without a second thought, I typed out the first thing that came to mind.

_Katniss: you’ve been waiting to hear from me all week. true or not true?_

It was bold. Admittedly less bold than when I had let him carry me into his bedroom and have his way with me, but still nerve wracking, nonetheless. I wasn’t used to flirting with anyone, much less a guy who I had considered an enemy for so long. Yet somehow, between the playful way we had behaved in the bakery and his almost instantaneous responses to my texts, Peeta made our conversations come easily. Which was why I wasn’t surprised to see his next message pop up only seconds later.

_Peeta: definitely true_

I sprawled out across my bed and let my phone fall onto the mattress beside me, more than content with his answer. That was enough of our game for one day.

Although the ice between us had at long last been broken, we didn’t speak for the rest of the weekend. Peeta’s confession was enough for me to get through the two-day period of no contact, and on Monday I decided to wear his blue hoodie to school just to torment him. The look of astonishment on his face when he registered what I had done was nothing less than satisfactory.

It was my turn to be surprised three days later when a scrap of notebook paper twirled out of my locker and landed at my feet on the floor. I was about to ignore it until I noticed the unfamiliar handwriting scribbled onto it. Leaning down to pick it up, I knew it could have only come from one person.

_truth or dare?_

After collecting my supplies for my first class of the day I tore the note in half, tossing the _truth_ side into the abyss of the hallway and slipping the _dare_ half into Peeta’s locker. It was time for someone to make the next move.

The rest of the day proceeded as usual, culminating with English as the last class before the final bell. I had visited my locker several times since that morning but received no further messages, meaning that the window of Peeta’s opportunity to act was coming to a close. The ticking of the hands on the clock above the door seemed to drown out Mr. Abernathy’s voice as he rambled about some life story that definitely had nothing to do with the Shakespeare book we were supposed to be reading.

“Anyway, that’s why I always say that a goose is worth a dozen chickens,” he finished his nonsensical anecdote just as the bell rang, transforming the dormant classroom into a flurry of papers being shoved into folders and shoes bolting for the door.

Peeta had somehow managed to beat me to my own locker, for when I opened it to pack my bag, another piece of paper tumbled out. I tried to conceal my excitement as I bent down to retrieve it.

_Tomorrow. Dinner. I’ll pick you up at 7._

“Damn Everdeen, I know I call you brainless for fun, but that look you’ve got on your face actually makes you look crazy,” Johanna roused on her way to her own locker, but even her usual antics couldn’t wipe the dopey grin off my face.

Friday evening rolled around faster than I had anticipated, and by 6:50 p.m., any trace of enthusiasm had been drowned out by terror and slight hypothermia. It was a rather warm day for mid-January, but the night chill made my teeth chatter as I waited for Peeta at the end of my driveway. I didn't want to run the risk of my mom or Prim seeing him pull up, or worse, inviting him in, so I told them I was walking to Gale’s house down the street to avoid any suspicions. At least I was appropriately dressed that time, bundled in a thick sweater and puffy jacket that nearly reached my knees, but the sight of Peeta’s headlights approaching sent a sensation through my body that warmed me more than any winter coat could. It was a sensation I was still getting used to, but was learning to welcome.

I tugged at the door handle before he could even think about switching the ignition off and asking if he should go inside to meet my family. If I was going to be spending time with Peeta regularly, I at least had to keep the two worlds separate, or else run the risk of letting real emotions get involved. I reasoned that as long as our interactions remained a secret, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt. Or worse, hurting Peeta.

Not that I cared about his feelings. Obviously.

“Someone’s eager,” he giggled, and damn, did he really have the audacity to _giggle_?

“Yeah, well, it’s an hour past my dinner time,” I complained, buckling my seatbelt as a sign for him to put the car in drive. He shook his head and smiled as he followed my silent order, training his gaze on the illuminated road ahead of us. I watched the crinkles around his eyes settle back into his skin as he became more serious, focusing on the empty street. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the Mumford & Sons album he had spinning in the car’s radio. I followed the path from his fingers to his hands to his wrists, where his skin became concealed by a pea coat that was either navy blue or black, the dim lighting making it impossible to tell. But even in the shadows I could find my way back up to his eyes, still glowing blue. The headlights of an oncoming car shone directly on his face and, for a few cursory moments before passing, I could make out every eyelash, each one unbelievably long and perfectly curved.

“Like what you see?” His voice jerked me back into reality, and I snapped my head to face forward. What was the customary response for when a guy that you definitely didn’t like but also maybe didn’t hate called you out for staring at him? I didn’t know why I was so suddenly overcome by nerves, and it didn’t help that Peeta was very visibly bouncing his left leg with anxiety.

The bouncing only intensified as he pulled into the rear parking lot of his family’s bakery.

“Seriously?” I blurted out, perhaps a little more harshly than I had meant to. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love a free meal as much as the next girl.” I began rambling, trying to walk back the unintended aggression laced in my first comment. “And I could definitely eat a whole meal’s worth of those rolls you had last time - what did you call them again?”

“Cheese buns,” he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. I watched him open the driver’s side door and step out into the cold night without removing the keys from the ignition. “Wait here for one second,” he said, adding a shy “please” before shutting the door and racing toward the bakery. Were we only making a pit stop before going to an actual restaurant? Maybe he had forgotten his wallet inside, or randomly remembered that he had left the oven on after his shift earlier.

I pivoted in my seat, still held in place by the security belt strapped against my chest, and watched as small bursts of light gradually appeared through the windows of the bakery, as if Peeta was turning each lightbulb on one by one. A minute passed and a puff of smoke escaped through the chimney on the roof, indicating that he must have just turned one of the ovens _on_ rather than off. That crossed out my theory that we were just passing through.

Eventually, Peeta re-emerged from the back door, looking like he had gained some confidence. The idea of him standing in front of all the cookies and cupcakes while giving himself a mini pep talk brought the taste of laughter to my mouth.

“Okay,” he exhaled as he swung the door open on his side of the car, reaching in to twist the keys out and kill the engine. Only then did it occur to me that he had kept the vehicle running so that I wouldn’t get cold. “You can come in now.” He sounded slightly out of breath, as if he had been sprinting around inside the bakery when he had gone in to do, well, whatever it was that he did.

A wave of understanding rushed over me as I stepped through the rear door of the building. My view from the kitchen was slightly obstructed, but I could still make out the sight of a dozen or so candles twinkling in the front of the bakery. Unlike the last time I was there, my senses were not immediately overtaken by the scent of baked goods, but the candles didn’t appear to have any significant aroma, either. Instead, my nose and stomach were drawn to one of the ovens, the one that Peeta must have ignited while I was still in the car.

“I hope you like pasta,” he said as he opened the door to the heat chamber, drawing out two plates of food he had been warming up with gloved hands. “And that you’re not lactose intolerant.”

I felt a smile tugging on the corners of my mouth as I followed him to the front of the shop. “Are you kidding? I have a stomach of steel.” Peeta placed the dinner on the same table we had sat at almost two weeks earlier, except it was now set with silverware, placemats, and the flame of a single candle in the center.

I stood surrounded by the other candles, fully immersed in their light and awestruck by their beauty. Their blaze touched every inch of the shop - atop the display case, along the windowsills, on surrounding tables. One thought infiltrated my mind, screaming at me over and over as if my own internal voice couldn’t quite bring herself to believe what she was saying. _He did this for you. Peeta did all of this for you._

“Is it too much?” he asked sheepishly. I peeled my eyes away from the sight before me, turning to face him. He had already taken his seat and was evidently waiting to see if I would follow suit or run out of the bakery all the way back home. 

I shook my head before the words could find their way to my lips. “It’s stunning.” He beamed at my two-word response, suddenly glowing brighter than anything else in the room. I slipped my jacket off my shoulders, no longer needing it, and sat across from Peeta. We were so close that our knees almost brushed beneath the short table. I could think of no other words to speak, and Peeta likely had too many thoughts begging to be let loose, so we both dug into the meal he had made before either of us had a chance to say the wrong thing.

It was some sort of creamy pasta dish, similar to a fettuccine alfredo, but unlike any I had tasted before. While other pastas I was familiar with were typically hastily put together by my mother on her way to work or oversaturated in salt and sauce by two-star restaurants, Peeta’s batch had been handcrafted by the gods. 

“It’s my own recipe,” he bragged, taking pride in my reaction.

“When did you have the time to do all this?” I asked, waving my hand to gesture at the flames dancing around us. I knew that he worked the after school shift most weekdays, meaning that he must have never left the shop after closing, staying behind to decorate and cook. Most of the time I could barely muster the motivation to make myself a measly peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so the thought of him going to such great lengths to coordinate a dinner for me was unfathomable.

“My dad’s had the candles lying around for ages, they’ve just been collecting dust in the supply closet. He was never gonna use them anyway.” He shrugged casually while twirling his fork around in his pasta, like the obvious thing to do with a bunch of old candles was to dramatically stage them across your family’s bakery and invite a girl you barely knew over for dinner after-hours. “And I would have asked if you wanted to help me make the food, but you seem like more of a fan of the eating than the cooking.”

I should have told him he was right, or thanked him profusely for feeding me perhaps the best meal I had ever tasted, but instead all I said was, “You didn’t have to cook for me.”

He didn’t meet my gaze as he said, “I thought this would be more comfortable.” It might as well have been the equivalent of _I thought you would be more comfortable somewhere no one could see us together_. It wasn’t a particularly nice thought, but it was true, wasn’t it? I had made it clear that speaking in public wasn’t an option, resorting to sneakily dropping notes in each other's lockers and exchanging fleeting glances from opposing sides of a room. I hadn’t told a soul where I was going that night, or who I was with, or what we were doing. I had even made a point of waiting for him outside in the dark to prevent my family from seeing his car. So what if I wanted to keep whatever was happening between Peeta and I a secret? That didn’t make me a bad person. It made me a cautious one.

“So…” Peeta started, drawing me out of my muddled thoughts and back into the illusory starlight of the bakery. He was clearly trying to come up with a way to reroute the rocky conversation. “Finnick’s been on my ass for the last two weeks trying to get me to tell him what happened between us.” I could tell from the slight wince that overtook his face that he regretted his choice of words as soon as they had tumbled out of his mouth, and while the reminder of our New Year’s Eve night together should have been even more perturbing than his prior statement, I found myself amused. At least I wasn’t the only one being harassed by our friends.

“You think Finnick’s bad?” I scoffed. “You should hear the things Johanna has been saying.” Finnick may have been more steadfast and calculated in his schemes, but Jo knew how to throw her punches where they hurt most. “I guess we should consider ourselves lucky that they haven’t ganged up on us,” I reasoned. Peeta and I shared a grin, knowing that we both loved our friends to death despite their more loathsome habits.

The mood had shifted back to more amicable territory, and we were able to continue our meal in relative peace. I noticed a trend of how the rest of the world seemed to fall away when I was with Peeta, whether I was wrapped in his arms or sitting across from him at our table in the bakery, he had a way of captivating my attention that effectively shut out whatever was going on beyond our four walls.

He was in the middle of a detailed narration of how the Mellark brother’s annual New Year’s Eve party first came to be when I twirled the final few strands of pasta around my fork, and I savored both his story and his cooking. As he worked to clear his own plate, I noticed a smudge of white clinging to the edge of his lips.

“Oh,” the quiet exclamation escaped my lips before I could even consider holding it in. “You, uh,” I gestured to his mouth, hoping he would pick up on my cues, but got only a puzzled look in response. “You’ve got something right there.” I brought my hand to my own face, indicating where the sauce had landed, but in mirroring my actions he wiped at the wrong side.

“Did I get it?” he asked. Instead of answering I took it upon myself to lean across the table and take care of the matter for him. His breath hitched against my skin as I traced the corner of his lip with my thumb, and I couldn’t help but be transported back to exactly two weeks earlier, on December 31st, when I had laid before him on his living room floor as he caressed so many of my intimate areas with the utmost gentility and care. Only, that time, it was my turn to do the touching, and his turn to writhe beneath me.

The palm of my hand was still cradling his cheek when he whispered, light as a feather, “You still have no idea, do you?” I blinked at him wordlessly in response. No idea about _what_?

“The effect you can have.” 

His voice had dropped several octaves in his second statement, as if demonstrating the very effect that he spoke of. All that time I had been so caught up in my own emotions, questioning why I had done what I did and how that impacted my feelings toward him, that I hadn’t even taken a moment to consider how Peeta felt about me. Well, that wasn’t entirely true - the possibility of Peeta liking me more than he was willing to let on _had_ crossed my mind. I asked him that morning in the bakery what he had meant when he told me that he’d wanted to “do that forever”, but my brain refused to accept that he was referring to me specifically and wrote it off as a more general statement about his ambitions for hooking up with girls.

He had accepted my reasoning at the time, stammering in agreement before swiftly changing the subject. But the more that I thought about it, the more I became increasingly aware of its flawed logic. Because Peeta could have any girl he wanted. Half of the school practically threw themselves at him, his allure second only to Finnick’s, and yet he had been warding them off for years. As if he had been waiting for someone in particular. As if he had been waiting for _me_.

The only question left to answer was, had I been waiting for him, too? There was no denying the fire Peeta ignited within me. It had always been there, and I had long since accepted it as a physical symptom of my animosity toward him. Our clash in the choir room hadn’t acted as a catalyst for those feelings, but rather as a concealment of their true nature, one that I had clung to for nearly a decade. But New Year’s Eve changed everything. He had kindled the torrid embers and charged them with flames so bright that I couldn’t help but burn for him, day and night, ever since.

“Peeta, I-” He interrupted me before I could attempt to piece together what I wanted to say. Which was what, exactly? That I did know what effect he was talking about, because I had been entranced by it ever since we first met? That I thought I despised him, with his blonde curls and illustrious smile and unwavering kindness, only to realize that the one thing I actually did hate about him was the way he made me weak in the knees?

But all of that turned to ash as he said, “You’re on fire.”

 _Hell yes I was_.

“Katniss! Seriously, you’re on fire!”

I looked down to find the elbow of my sweater drenched in the candle’s red-hot glow. I sat dumbfounded as Peeta hurriedly poured his water over my still-outstretched limb, smothering the blaze before it could travel any further or incite any damage, then emptied my own glass on top of it as an extra precaution.

“Are you hurt? Oh my god, this is all my fault. Did it burn you? I’m so sorry, Katniss. Should I take you to the hospital?” Peeta spoke about a mile a minute as he inspected my arm. Luckily, the sweater I had worn was loose fitting and the sleeves dangled far below my skin, so the candle’s blaze hadn’t come in contact with my skin during the brief second it kissed my clothing. Still, that didn’t stop Peeta from playing doctor for the next twenty minutes, racing to retrieve his father’s first aid kit and offering me every last bandage and antiseptic cream in the box.

“For the millionth time, Peeta, I swear I’m okay,” I asserted. The incident had stunned me at best; no physical harm was done. If anyone was going to be taken out of the bakery in a stretcher that night it would have been him, suffering from heart palpitations.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, again. “Those stupid candles ruined the night.” After he had determined that I wasn’t actively dying, he had blown each one of them out and opted to switch on the bakery’s regular light panel. 

“I don’t know, they weren’t _all_ bad,” I teased, earning a chastising look from Peeta. “What? They made for a great story,” I insisted.

Peeta lightened up at that. “I guess you did earn some pretty serious bragging rights,” he mused, allowing a smile to return to his face. I tried to pretend that it didn’t make my heart melt. “Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire.” He said it with a look on his face that resembled admiration, as if I had become some honorable hero by being careless enough to dip my own sleeve into a lit candle. Still, the phrase stuck with me long after he dropped me off and disappeared into the night. I laid in bed, tossing and turning well after midnight, imagining the ghost of Peeta’s body burning up my cold sheets.

 _Girl on fire_. He had no idea how right he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yes, i made president snow the bus driver. and you know what? it felt good. also in case you couldn’t tell, i really love exploring katniss’s relationships with other characters besides peeta, especially the dynamics with her girl friends (johanna mason i am looking at you). 
> 
> anyway, the next time I update will be around valentine’s day - which of course means a valentine’s themed chapter from peeta’s pov - so stay tuned for more! in the meantime, you can find me on tumblr @thewritershae!


	4. Peeta's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Truth or dare?”_
> 
> _“Katniss?” I must have heard wrong. Maybe I finally lost my mind and started hearing things that weren’t really there - or rather, people who weren’t really there._
> 
> _“For the second time, that isn’t one of the options,” she snickered through the phone, referencing our very first text conversation that had caught me equally off guard. It was a voice, a laugh, even a comment that was unmistakably Katniss. Who was calling me at my place of work. To ask me truth or dare. Maybe I wasn’t losing my mind, but something was definitely off balanced in the universe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back y’all, you’re in for a Valentine’s Day treat!! This chapter really has it all: Peeta and Rye playing Mario Kart, Haymitch being everyone’s favorite eccentric English teacher, and Katniss admitting she’s more of a Shrek than a Twilight type of gal. I mean seriously, does this not spell out the epitome of romance?

I set her on fire. I didn’t tell her she looked beautiful or mention how over-the-moon ecstatic I was that she had actually agreed to see me again. I didn’t even kiss her goodnight. But I set her on fire. That must have left an impression, right?

Apparently so, because Katniss only waited a day before making contact again.

“Thank you for calling the Mellark Bakery, this is Peeta speaking. How can I help you?” The telephone greeting might as well have been ingrained into my head since birth. It was a typical Sunday morning shift, which could be summed up perfectly into a few words: busy, hectic, swamped. Rye and I had gotten accustomed to rising at 3:30 a.m. each Sunday in order to prepare everything we’d need for the shift on our own. It was the least we could do to give our dad a break once a week, considering the responsibility to keep the bakery in order fell on his shoulders six days out of seven.

The arrangement had been set up years ago, back when Graham and Rye were the ones waking at the crack of dawn while I slept soundly - one of the few perks of being the baby of the family. But after Graham graduated, I, too, was tapped in for Sunday morning duties. With Rye headed off to college in a few months and me following suit next year, I wasn’t sure what my dad was going to do without his free labor. Not to mention the prospect of running the bakery alone on Sundays for a whole year after Rye left, but I couldn’t afford to think like that yet.

Little had I known before signing onto the agreement that Sunday mornings were not only the busiest shift, but also the strangest. It was as if the entire town forgot that we were open Monday through Saturday too, instead deciding to cram a week’s worth of orders into one five-hour timespan. To make matters worse, in addition to mine and Rye’s shared responsibilities in the kitchen and behind the counter, I was the one roped into the task of answering the phone whenever it rang - which was constantly. Rye said it was because I have better “interpersonal skills”, which just meant that he didn’t want to deal with people’s ludicrous last-minute requests.

That particular morning had been acutely stressful, and I’d already dealt with a handful of headache-inducing phone calls since the shop opened. I had heard just about every request and demand humanly possible, not to mention quite a few that _weren’t_ humanly possible. But never before in my time at the bakery had I been asked the question that came through the receiver next.

“Truth or dare?”

“ _Katniss_?” I must have heard wrong. Maybe I finally lost my mind and started hearing things that weren’t really there - or rather, people who weren’t really there.

“For the second time, that _isn’t_ one of the options,” she snickered through the phone, referencing our very first text conversation that had caught me equally off guard. It was a voice, a laugh, even a comment that was unmistakably Katniss. Who was calling me at my place of work. To ask me truth or dare. Maybe I wasn’t losing my mind, but something was definitely off balanced in the universe.

Not that I was complaining.

“You know, this number is supposed to be for customers only,” I chided. I let myself slip away from the busy service counter and snake around the corner into the kitchen, drowning out the sound of Rye and whoever was asking him for one muffin in every flavor we had.

“Who says I’m not a customer?” Katniss drawled out. God, something about her voice was even more intoxicating than usual, like it was smooth and raspy at the same time. Did she just wake up? Was she still in bed? Had I been the first person she thought of that morning, the first person she chose to speak to? 

“Considering you’ve still never been here during normal business hours and haven’t actually paid for a meal, _I’d_ say you don’t exactly qualify for that title,” I teased back easily, like flirting over the phone at eight in the morning was something we did regularly.

“Well, maybe when it’s your turn you can do something about that,” she said in a tone that lacked conviction. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that I could use the power of a dare to draw her into the bakery when it was actually open, but I think we both knew I never would - I wanted Katniss to want to come in on her own. That would mean more to me than any dare. “But right now, it’s my turn, so I’ll ask again. Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” I was really in no position to be playing games with Katniss, much less accept a dare from her. During the span of our short conversation Rye had already flashed me looks of confusion, then annoyance, and finally hopelessness as a steady line began to form in my absence. _Duty calls_ , I thought, but when Katniss Everdeen calls at the same time, work can be placed on hold for a minute or two.

“Is it true you can’t keep me off your mind?” The question came out in a delicate manner masked by confidence, almost like she had tried so hard to sound strong that she inadvertently revealed how unsure her voice really was. It was unfathomable. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who had garnered her reputation by kicking ass and taking names, the girl who had boldly threatened me in a second-grade choir class and still won my heart, was shy to ask me if I had been thinking about her? It wasn’t like there had been any doubts before, but I realized then and there that I was absolute putty in her hands.

“You already know the answer to that.” I smiled so wide that I was sure she could hear it in my words. I could certainly hear it in her own faint giggle, despite sounding slightly removed, like she had stretched the phone further away from her face so I wouldn’t pick up on the way the corner of her lips had curled upward. I thought back to New Year’s Day and the few fleeting moments I had held her in my arms as she slept, the way she had nuzzled into my chest for warmth. The only side of Katniss I had ever known was her rough exterior, but I was quickly learning that her softer sides had me coming completely undone.

She was the first to hang up. After the almost-kiss incident outside her house back on that first day of January, we had come to the silent conclusion that formal goodbyes were not our thing. We didn’t need to say it, anyway; it wouldn’t be long before one of us came crawling back for more.

The rest of my shift flew by seeing as I was thoroughly distracted from the tasks at hand. I spent the remainder of the day shuffling behind the counter, collecting pastries from within the display case and answering the phone with much less enthusiasm knowing that Katniss wouldn’t be on the other side. As I went through the motions, I found one line in particular permeating my thoughts, as if my brain was trying to telepathically send her a message. _I can’t get you off my mind. I can’t get you off my mind_.

But, as I had said earlier, she surely already knew it.

Without even meaning to, we had taken to communicating like that. Covert glances in the hallway, stealthy notes passed between barely brushing hands, short-lived conversations over the phone, clandestine dates in the bakery - if they could even be called dates. I certainly thought of them that way, but I couldn’t assume Katniss’s side of things. Well, I _could_ , but I constantly told myself not to. And then ignored myself and did it anyway.

We continued like that for about a month, until mid-February rolled around and New Year’s Eve felt like a fever dream, light years away.

“You still letting that girl string you along?” Rye asked offhandedly one night. I was kicking his ass at Mario Kart, the only video game that we could both agree on, and I knew he was just trying to throw me off my game. Still, the implication didn’t sit right with me.

“ _That girl_ has a name, you know. And for your information we’re stringing each other along,” I replied matter-of-factly. It was true; other than Rye and Finnick I hadn’t told anyone about our affair, and I doubted she spoke a word of it to even her closest friends. With an air of secrecy clouding our entire relationship, it was no wonder that Katniss and I were equally in the dark about each other’s true intentions. Well, aside from the fact that I once admitted that I thought she was cute when we were younger. And told her that she had an incredible singing voice that rivaled angels. And that she had no idea the effect she had on me.

Wait a minute…

No. Katniss had given me plenty of small clues regarding the way she felt about me, too. And regardless, neither of us had explicitly revealed our hearts desires yet. It was a level playing field.

“So are you gonna ask her out for Valentine’s Day? Or are you waiting for her to ask you?” he smirked, as if there was anything wrong with the girl being the one to make the first move. Truth was, I’d probably have fainted from relief if Katniss had been the one doing the asking. But with the days before Valentine’s dwindling before our very eyes, it was becoming increasingly apparent that she wouldn’t be the one to show her cards first.

“I don’t know yet,” I shrugged, squinting my eyes at the screen as we headed into the third and final lap around Rainbow Road. “Why? What do you think I should do?” I asked, more so to throw off his concentration on the game than to actually heed his advice.

“Dunno,” he said half-heartedly, just barely dodging a banana peel on the course. Before I could press the matter any further, I sped across the finish line, coming in first place while Rye rounded out third.

I jumped off the couch in celebration as Rye chucked his control across the living room, watching it skid along the carpet in defeat. “ _Ha_! Yoshi wins every time!” I gloated.

“Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This is a stupid game anyway.” He had been repeating the same sore loser sentiment since we were kids, but I knew he’d still say yes the next time I asked him to play. Turns out Mario Kart is his Achilles heel.

Once I completed my victory lap around the living room I dropped back down to the couch beside him, knowing exactly how to rouse my older brother even further. “So, what are your big plans for Valentine’s Day, huh? Gonna let Johanna Mason handcuff you or something? I hear she has a thing for axes-”

He had me in a play-headlock before I could even process what was happening, though we were both laughing so hard our chests were heaving. Mocking Rye for his wild night with my hot-blooded friend had recently become my new favorite pastime, even though both him and Jo had since insisted that it was very much an alcohol-induced one-time occurrence.

“Okay, okay, I take it back!” I squealed, as if we were six and seven years old again and I had just insulted his favorite cartoon character. With Graham out of the house and our dad working so much at the bakery, I had learned to cherish each precious moment with Rye - even if I wanted to punch him sometimes.

He released me from his grip and I sprung away toward the other side of the couch, craning my neck to ease the tension his hold had caused. When I looked back at him, though, I noticed his face was flushed a deeper shade of red than mine, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I had never been a particularly good liar, but Rye was the absolute worst. When he had something to say, it was written all over his face.

“Dude, what is it?” I asked, suddenly deeply confused about the possible accuracy of my claims. “Wait - are you _actually_ seeing Johanna?” I weakly attempted to mask the shock in my voice.

“For the last time, that’s never happening again,” he groaned, growing even more frustrated. Why wouldn’t he just spit it out? We’d never kept secrets from each other; that was one of the first rules Graham had taught us when we were still toddling around in his footsteps. _Pact of the brotherhood_ , he had called it, explaining that having a mother like ours meant the three of us had to stick together through thick and thin.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” My voice came out softer than before, less accusatory and more encouraging. His brows knitted as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, as if determining whether or not I was telling the truth. Ultimately, he knew I was.

“I don’t want you to freak out,” he started, which, naturally, freaked me out. No good news ever started out like that. “It’s just, I think I’ve liked her forever and I know you’ve had your eyes on the Everdeen girl since you were, like, seven, but you’ve always been so close to her, too, and I was never sure if I could make a move because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but now that you’re actually talking to Katniss, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask her-”

“Rye,” I interrupted, barely able to follow his stream of consciousness. “Who are you talking about?” He was right, I’d only ever had eyes for Katniss, so who else could he have possibly thought I might be hurt over him liking?

He sighed heavily before stating the obvious. “Delly.”

Delly Cartwright. The girl next door. The girl who learned morse code so we could communicate with flashlights through our bedroom windows when it was past our bedtimes. The girl who sat outside in the pouring rain and made mud pies with me when nothing else could drown out the sounds of my mom screaming at my dad. The girl who was kind to everyone, especially me, offering up her best smile to others even on her worst days.

Of course he thought I would end up falling in love with Delly - by all accounts, I probably _should_ have fallen in love with her. But through a course of events that I don’t think anyone could have predicted, least of all me, I had already gone and fallen for the girl who was my enemy in the same way that Delly was my best friend: relentlessly, whole-heartedly, almost effortlessly. The two girls could not have been more opposite, yet I loved them both dearly - just in very different ways.

It had actually been Delly who, all those years ago, I first confessed my infatuation with Katniss to. And, with the wisdom of an 80-year-old stuffed into an 8-year-old’s body, she had been the first to suggest that maybe it wasn’t just _infatuation_ , but _love_. The thought didn’t even scare me, which was partly how I knew it had to be true. I had never been the type of boy who teased girls, or said they had cooties, or made fun of them when I had a crush on them, and I partly attributed that to my friendship with Delly. Sure, I still used to hang out with guys like Cato and Marvel at school - hence the whole choir room debacle with Katniss, which could have been avoided if it weren’t for their immature antics - but it was Delly who I had sleepovers with, and let her paint my nails for practice, and listened to her wax poetic like the born romantic she was.

No wonder Rye had been scared to ask her out for the past seventeen years.

“Did she say yes?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to get too excited before making sure it was really happening. Because, seriously, my best childhood friend and my brother getting together - what could be better than that?

He tried to hide his smile as he whispered, “Yes,” still unsure of how I would take the news. I surprised him by leaping over onto his couch cushion and enveloping him in a bear hug reserved for only the most special of occasions.

“That’s amazing, you idiot!” I half-congratulated half-scolded him. “I wish you’d told me sooner so I could have smacked some sense into you and told you to go for it.” I ruffled his hair, taking my turn to rough him up a bit as payback for that headlock he held me in earlier.

“You’re really okay with it?” he laughed out. Any trace of uneasiness from seconds ago had faded away.

“I’m more than okay with it. Delly deserves the world, and I know you’ll treat her right,” I said, patting him on the back. “And if you don’t - I know where you live.” The threat came out good-naturedly, and Rye and I both laughed it off, knowing that he’d break his own heart a million times over before allowing Delly to get hurt.

Still, in that moment I felt such an immense sense of brotherly protectiveness over my friend, one that had always been present when she’d dated other guys, but I’d never paid much mind to before. A thought flashed across my mind - _maybe this is how Gale feels about Katniss, maybe he just wants to make sure his best friend doesn’t get hurt_ \- before pushing it aside, telling my brain to focus on Rye and Delly and their happiness. Because, geez, if Katniss and I didn’t work out, I was going to need some pretty big proof to still believe that love wasn’t dead.

As if answering my prayers, love was most certainly in the air a few days later on Valentine’s Day. I remembered the holiday being much more fun in elementary school, back when it was still exciting to write valentines to your classmates and see what they said about you in return. Of course, an overwhelming number of cards tended to include the typical “thanks for being nice” or “you’re a great friend”, but - shocker, I know - Katniss’s valentines were always my favorite. Not because they were particularly nice, but because she somehow managed to weave a new backhanded compliment into her message each year, like “your eyes are so blue I wish I could drown in them so I never had to look at you again”, or “the cookies you brought to school today were too good to be homemade, I bet you lied and bought them at the store”, and “you’re so polite you made me want to flip a table.”

But high school was nothing like that; there were no lessons on how to communicate your feelings for a girl via a heart-shaped card with a lollipop taped to it. I decided to wait to address Katniss until the end of the day, partially because it was the only time we were in the same room together, but I also wanted to see if she would make the first move like Rye had mentioned. Alas, by the time we found ourselves in Mr. Abernathy’s English class, it had become evident that wouldn’t be happening.

“Annie,” I whispered to my friend in the seat beside me, keeping an eye trained on Mr. Abernathy at all times. I was on a stealth mission and getting caught was not an option. “ _Pssst. Annie_.” Finally, she looked up from the book she was reading, clearly paying about as much attention to our teacher’s rant as I was. She arched her eyebrows and gave me a look that said _what do you want_? I discreetly reached my hand out across the aisle, dropping the note onto the corner of her desk. When she looked back at me even more confused, I mouthed, “Pass it to Katniss.”

Annie’s face lit up immediately, apparently very excited to be part of my plan. I wondered how much, if any, Katniss had told her about our exchanges. On the other hand, I was sure that Finnick had told his girlfriend everything I relayed to him and then some - not that I minded. I’d come to consider her a close friend, and while Finnick may have loose lips, I knew that Annie was someone I could trust.

I watched her pass the note to the girl on her other side, repeating my instructions to deliver it to Katniss. The tiny slip of paper snaked through rows of desks, transferred from one pair of hands to another, until finally Darius, who sat in front of Katniss, pivoted and dropped it in front of her.

She seemed startled at first, then somewhat annoyed as her face contorted into a scowl. Darius had made several attempts at wooing Katniss, as she had very firmly shot him down multiple times. She held out the note with the tips of her fingers and wrinkled her nose as if it were a dead fish, and I had to stifle a laugh at her reaction to what she must have thought was another confession of admiration from Darius.

Her expression softened as soon as she began to unfold the paper, though, almost as if she recognized my handwriting at first sight. It would make sense considering we had been exchanging handwritten messages for a month, and I knew I could certainly recognize her own script by then. Still, the thought warmed my heart.

Katniss fully opened the note and flattened it on her desk, running her hands over the surface of the crisp white slip to smooth out any crinkles, reading it over and over. She had obviously figured out that I was the sender by that point, so why was she refusing to meet my gaze? But as one corner of her mouth curved up into a half-smile, it registered: she didn’t need to lift her head because she already knew _I_ was looking at _her_.

It was something she had teased me for ruthlessly over the prior weeks. Evidently my lovelorn gazes of the past decade had not gone unnoticed by Katniss, but a round of truth or dare led her to reveal that she didn’t really mind. So, I let myself stare, and she blushed and pretended not to love it. That is, until the flush on her cheeks disappeared as all the blood drained from her face. Because Mr. Abernathy was standing in front of her desk, with his hand extended, pointing directly at my note.

“Whatcha got there, sweetheart?” he inquired derisively. Twenty or so pairs of eyes had fallen on her, and the attention caused her to panic.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, trying to gradually cover the note with her hand. That only served to agitate the grown man even further.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked, first to Katniss and then turning to face the rest of the class, waving his hands in the air maniacally. “Is that it? Do you all think I’m stupid?” It would have been hilarious if I wasn’t the one directly tied to the note that was causing his tantrum.

He returned his focus to Katniss, who seemed to have regained both some color and confidence amidst our teacher’s outburst. “Well sir, you’re not exactly helping your case, are you?” she countered smugly, gesturing to Mr. Abernathy’s still flailing limbs. A chorus of _ooohs_ sounded throughout the classroom, falling silent again as we all anticipated the man’s searing comeback. He’d have to send her directly to the principal’s office for that kind of temper. Or worse, maybe he’d condemn her to a week’s worth of detention with him as the proctor. 

But instead of issuing her punishment, he laughed. A side-splitting, table-slamming laugh that made him throw his head back and wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. “Whew,” he exhaled, struggling to regain his breath. I wouldn’t doubt that the full minute of laughter was the hardest workout Haymitch Abernathy had endured in years. “I always knew I liked you, Everdeen,” he said, like they had been old friends for years and calling him out on his odd behavior was totally acceptable.

Katniss visibly relaxed, even laughing a little herself, thinking she had gotten off the hook. Until Mr. Abernathy abruptly reached his hand out once again and gestured to the note, saying, “Alright, sweetheart. Hand it over.”

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you serious?” she asked, sounding like she had been betrayed.

“Have I ever been anything but serious?” the teacher shot back. The rigid mood shift in the room must have told Katniss that he was not looking for an answer to his question. Begrudgingly, she handed over the note, _my_ note, and Mr. Abernathy took it with him as he returned to his desk at the front of the room.

The older man put on a big show of pulling out a pair of reading glasses, which we had never seen him wear in the several months that he had been our English teacher. He leaned forward in his chair and cleared his throat demonstratively, acting as if he was preparing to read it out loud to the class, but instead he squinted his eyes and exclaimed, “Who the hell still plays truth or dare!?”

The rest of the class quietly snickered at the revelation that tough-as-nails Katniss Everdeen had been caught playing childish games with someone else in the room, though some were clearly disappointed by the lack of juicy drama in the note. Annie looked at me suspiciously, likely equally disappointed that my note hadn’t been a confession of love, but all I could do was shrug back at her nonchalantly to keep from drawing attention to myself.

“Well, sweetheart. What’ll it be? Truth or dare?” Mr. Abernathy asked once the hype had died down. Once again, everyone turned in their chairs to stare at Katniss. That was certainly one way to get an answer out of her, though perhaps not nearly as romantic as I had hoped. At least it would be a Valentine’s Day she’d never forget.

Katniss seemed to toy with the idea of answering, likely weighing out the pros and cons between appeasing our teacher with an answer and getting the whole ordeal over with, or throwing another scathing remark his way. In the end, she went with the first option. “What the hell,” she sighed. “I’ll go with dare.”

Our classmates cheered her on, a large source of their support likely stemming from the fact that her interruption had cut off Mr. Abernathy mid-lecture. Though that celebration, too, was cut short when the bell rang a few seconds later. To nobody’s surprise, Katniss was the first out the door, not even bothering to shove her books into her backpack before shooting toward the exit. I was among the stragglers who made sure that every page was neatly tucked away before departing, and just as I zipped up my bag I heard my name called.

“Mr. Mellark, how about you stay a while and we can chat,” Mr. Abernathy said as he propped his shoe-clad feet up on his desk, on top of piles of ungraded essays and unused lesson plans. My nerves immediately picked up again, my fight or flight instincts kicking in, but the teacher leaned over and patted a chair adjacent to his desk. _There’s nowhere to run, kid_ , he was telling me.

With all the composure I could muster, I took the seat beside him. It was the nearest I’d ever been to my teacher, and he looked even more disheveled up close. We sat like that for what felt like an eternity, him picking at his fingernails absentmindedly while I trained my gaze on the window over his shoulder, until he finally cleared his throat and asked, “So, what dare do you have in mind for the girl?”

 _Shit_. “What? I’m not- I don’t know what-” I fumbled over my words, unsure of what direction I was going with them. Was there any point trying to deny it? The look on Mr. Abernathy’s face told me he already knew. I took a deep breath and internally cursed myself for having too many morals to tell my teacher a lie. “How did you know it was me?”

“Boy, I’ve been grading your homework since August, and you’ve got the fanciest damn handwriting I’ve seen in all my years as a teacher,” he said, waving his hand over the seemingly untouched stack of papers. I was more shocked that he actually read our assignments than by him being able to identify me by my writing. “Besides,” he continued, “you’ve got a terrible poker face. It’d be hard to not figure out it was you.”

“Oh,” I surrendered. I had clearly underestimated the man’s attention to detail.

Mr. Abernathy shifted at his desk, swinging his feet back down beneath him and hunching forward. I didn’t appreciate the increased intensity of his eye contact, but it achieved the intimidating effect he was clearly going for. “You know what’ll happen if I ever catch you passing notes in my class again?”

“You’ll send me to Principal Paylor?” I winced.

“Worse. I’ll have you clean out my goose pens for a month. You’ll wish I sent you to Paylor,”

I shriveled in disgust at the thought. “Is that even allowed?” Teachers using students for unpaid labor in their private homes did not seem like something the school board would go for.

He scoffed at the question. “What are you gonna do, send _me_ to Paylor?”

“No, sir,” I answered, wishing to drop the topic altogether. Maybe he had distracted himself enough to forget about the whole note ordeal.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His expression softened somewhat before adding, “You be good to her, boy,” which was… unexpected. Why would Haymitch Abernathy care about Katniss? Before I had time to mentally catalogue all the possibilities, he clapped his hands to signify the conversation was over. “Now get lost,” he commanded.

I didn’t hesitate to obey. Luckily, my belongings were already packed, so I was able to rise and race to the exit in a matter of seconds. But I lingered in the doorway, a risky thought suddenly entering my mind. “Mr. Abernathy?” I called, turning back to face him. If his previous comment was any indication that he understood Katniss, maybe he’d know what to do. “Do you happen to have any, er, advice?”

“Advice on courting sweetheart?” he snorted, amused. He considered it a moment before saying with a smirk, “Stay alive.” I gave a polite nod before finally taking my cue to leave. _Asking your teacher for dating advice_ , I thought to myself, horrified. _Definitely a new low_.

It was fitting advice though, considering I had never felt more alive than when I was with Katniss. I could feel my heart pounding and my veins pumping with adrenaline as I sprinted from the classroom, navigating the halls until I found her standing at her locker, almost done packing up for the day.

“Hey!” I called as I bounded down the corridor, drawing perplexed glances from my peers. But only one set of striking grey eyes stood out among the crowd. She fought the grin clawing at her lips, likely because we never addressed each other so publicly, or so _loudly_ , for that matter. Still, I let my feet guide me directly to Katniss’s side, practically panting by the time I said, “Be ready at 6 tonight. I’ll pick you up.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip before allowing her face to blossom into a full smile. “Okay,” she conceded, and a tension I didn’t even realize I had been carrying evaporated off my shoulders. 

“Okay,” I repeated calmly. I nearly knocked over a group of freshmen as I began walking backward, not wanting to take my eyes off of her. “Oh, and Katniss?” I called out once there was about fifteen feet of space between us. If looks could kill I would have dropped dead in that hallway, but that didn’t stop me from shouting, “Wear something comfortable!”

I turned the corner and fled from the school before she could make me eat my words, but I had no regrets. My racing pulse reminded me why I kept coming back to her. Mr. Abernathy wanted me to stay alive? I could do him one better than that. With Katniss, I was finally _living_.

When I pulled up to her house later that night, I knew Katniss would be waiting for me at the end of the driveway. I never asked why she was so adamant about keeping me a secret from her family - and the rest of the world, for that matter. I’d always been afraid of pushing her too hard, but I was hoping that we would make some progress on that end by the time Valentine’s Day was over.

“Just remember, _you’re_ the one who said to dress comfy,” she said the moment she opened the car door, cutting me off before I could even say hello. Gone was the sulking, silent Katniss I knew at school, replaced by the vibrant, outspoken Katniss I now only saw behind closed doors. My Katniss. 

Once the initial rush of her presence faded, I was able to take in the outfit she was referencing: a fuzzy sweater that appeared to be made out of cotton balls and was about ten sizes too big for her paired with pajama pants adorned with fluffy white goats, each furry creature sporting a different colored hat and scarf. The way the pants rode up above her ankles told me she had likely borrowed them from her younger sister. Well, that, and the fact that I could never in a million years imaging Katniss Everdeen owning anything of the sort. It certainly paled in comparison to my own black sweatshirt and sweatpants - though I’d normally be wearing a different hoodie if someone hadn’t stolen it from me.

“What?” she asked, amused to see that her ensemble had garnered the desired response: I had been left speechless by a herd of little rainbow colored billy goats. “I can be comfortable _and_ classy,” she said haughtily. We both had to stifle fits of laughter at that. 

“Oh,” I said, suddenly remembering I had brought a surprise of my own. I reached into the backseat and handed Katniss an assortment of yellow and white flowers, trying my best to mask my shaky hands. “These are for you.”

She admired the gift with that rare softness in her eyes that I had come to adore, adding it to the endless list of ultra-endearing Katniss-quirks. At first she didn’t seem to know what to say, as if she had never been given flowers before, but she accepted them a moment later with a gentle, “Thank you.”

"I remembered that you didn't, um, like roses," I stammered out, recalling the time in fourth grade when she sneakily disposed of the thorny red bouquet that Darius had given her - upon reflection it seemed we had _both_ been pining after Katniss for ages. From that day on I kept a mental note to avoid roses in case it ever came in handy, though I never thought I’d see the day it actually did.

Katniss stared down at the assortment of petals in her lap pensively, and I felt the need to explain further - as if more talking had ever benefitted me when it came to her. "I couldn't remember what kind you said was your favorite during the plant unit in biology, but I thought it started with a D, so I figured I'd play it safe and go with daffodil and daisies." I finished the sentence in a hushed tone, suddenly blushing at how much I just revealed that I knew about her.

But she only nodded politely, not calling me out on my hyper awareness of her every move for once. I took that as my cue to start driving, thinking I’d let her simmer in her thoughts until we reached our destination. We only made it a few blocks away until she spoke again.

“Dandelions.”

Of course. All it took was a singular word, one that made no sense out of context, to bring about a world of clarity: Katniss on the playground, collecting a handful of yellow dandelions while singing to herself at recess, smiling as she imagined what Prim’s reaction would be when she arrived home with the beautiful bouquet; Katniss with her friends, persuading Madge to allow her to braid the flowers into her hair because it would make her already blonde waves appear even more golden; Katniss alone, thinking nobody could see her as she blew away the fluffy exterior of the transformed dandelion in late Spring, making a wish that I would make my life’s goal to bring to fruition.

I finally relaxed into my seat, loosening my death grip on the steering wheel. I could feel her watching me again, just as she had done the first time I picked her up and took her to the bakery, and just as she had done every time since. I was bold in my watching, not caring if the whole world saw the way I ogled at Katniss Everdeen - which, they did, by the way. But she was more secretive, only allowing herself glances under the veil of night, as if she herself didn’t want to admit the way she looked at me with the same sense of longing that I reserved for her.

But her attention was drawn elsewhere when I took a left on Merchant Street rather than a right, dragging us deeper into the other side of town rather than dropping us as the bakery’s doorstep. 

“Where are we going?” she asked timidly. I couldn’t quiet hear the tension in her voice, but I knew it was right there under the surface. 

“Somewhere different,” I said, not wanting to give away any clues. 

“Oh,” was all she said, redirecting her gaze out the window for the rest of the drive. If she began to recognize our route, she didn’t let it show. In fact, she remained deadly silent as I pulled into the driveway of my own house.

“I thought we’d do something, er, special tonight. You know, for Valentine’s Day. I mean, Rye’s out with Delly and my dad said he was meeting up with an old friend from high school, so my house is totally empty. Not that I’m trying to be suggestive or anything,” I rambled, trying to defend my choices even though she still hadn’t spoken. “Is it- is this okay with you?” I asked.

Katniss wasn’t facing me, staring at my front porch instead, undoubtedly thinking about the last - and only - time she’d been to my house. Except I was sure that Valentine’s would be the complete opposite of New Year’s, with no crowd of drunk classmates surrounding us, and certainly no Johanna Mason coercing us into more intimate acts. If she agreed to come in, there would only be us.

“Yeah,” she finally answered, not quite confidently but convincingly. “Yeah, this is okay.” Our evenings together had been confined to the bakery up until then, and while I still knew she’d be more comfortable if we stayed alone, I figured a change in scenery could help nudge us in the direction I hoped we’d soon take.

“Good,” I smiled at her as we made our way to my front door. “Because I have a few more surprises up my sleeve.”

To be fair, a home cooked meal surrounded by candlelight was probably the most romantic as it could possibly get on Valentine’s Day. But we had already done that - and the whole ‘open flame’ thing didn’t go so well the first time. So, I figured I’d take a more laid-back approach, hence the comfy clothes. But the theme of comfort didn’t stop there.

“Oh my god, Peeta,” Katniss marveled. “Did you do all of this?”

 _All of this_ was referring to the blanket fort I had built around the entire living room, draping it over the couch, the chairs, and even the bookshelf, with a large opening facing the television. I also draped string lights (which I borrowed from Madge, who passionately affirmed that they were called _fairy lights_ ) over the top, making it look like fireflies were floating above us. And she didn’t even see the cherry on top yet: the pile of takeout food I had ordered for us, still warm in the kitchen.

“All by myself,” I nodded, basking in her admiration for my work. “I think I lost a year off my life each time the whole thing collapsed on me, but it was worth it.”

She stepped closer to where the lights covered the blankets, eyeing them suspiciously. “Are you sure these aren’t flammable?” she teased. “Because it was fun the first time, but I might have to stop talking to you if you light me on fire again.”

I came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing my chest flush against her back. She tensed at first - it was the most physical contact we’d shared since the last time she was in my house. We had kissed a few times in the bakery, mostly chaste, spur of the moment brushes that we never discussed afterward. But being so close to her then, feeling the movement of her breathing and inhaling the scent of her hair, felt even more intimate.

“I promise not to set you on fire. Again,” I whispered into her ear, feeling the shiver it sent down her spine. We stayed like that, rocking back and forth slightly as I rested my chin on her shoulder, breathing into the crook of her neck. I couldn’t help but think how we’d been missing out all those weeks by not touching, but Katniss untangled herself from my body before I could voice my thoughts.

“It smells like food. Is there food?” she inquisitive, her eyes lighting up. It was good to know her unwavering loyalty to food had not budged.

“Did you seriously think there _wouldn’t_ be food?” I reluctantly walked away from her to retrieve the Thai food in the kitchen, bringing it back and setting it in the center of the blanket fort, which she had eagerly climbed into.

She gasped when she saw what I was carrying. “Peeta. Is that?”

“From the new Thai place across from Sae’s? Why yes, yes it is.” Impress her with my expert fort-building skills, _check_. Blow her mind with food from the most sought-after restaurant in town, _check_. Everything was going to plan.

“But I heard the line’s been out the door since opening day. They must have been totally booked tonight - how did you manage to place an order?”

“I happen to be a master persuader,” I said, fully embracing the art of the humble brag. “Plus, the owners are big fans of my cheese buns.”

“Do you always use food to get your way?” she asked as I unclasped a container of pad thai, handing it over to her.

“Well, it certainly works on you.” I answered with a wink. She rolled her eyes but accepted the dish, nonetheless.

“That’s no fair,” she said after a few bites, attempting to mask how much she was enjoying the food by plastering on a stern face. “You know one of my weaknesses, but I know none of yours.”

I could tell she meant for it to be a joke. It was no secret that Katniss had a soft spot for food, and I had capitalized on that knowledge for weeks. I could have joked back, or said something about my affinity for new paint brushes or partiality to baby animals, but instead I sucked it up and admitted, “You’re my biggest weakness.”

To my surprise, she didn’t run. She didn’t even wince, or scowl, or cower away. She just stared at me, expression starting off blank but growing more… heated? It was different than her normal blush; it appeared that a wave of warmth had washed over her whole body, skipping the soft pink phase, and jumping straight into the red-hot zone. I would know - I’d been there plenty of times myself.

“That’s… good to know,” she finally said. It was a step forward. Not a total rejection, but also not a verbal confirmation that she felt the same way. I thought back to Rye’s comment earlier that week about being stringed along, and my determination to get Katniss to admit her true feelings by the end of the night intensified. But the spark had already dimmed, and I opted to change the subject.

“Anyway, I was thinking - do you wanna watch a movie? We don’t have Netflix on the tv, but I pulled out a couple DVD’s I thought you might like…” I crawled across the opening of the blanket fort until I was kneeling before the television stand, taking out the stack of mostly childhood staples.

“Yeah, I see you’ve got some classics here,” she joked, rifling through my rather limited selection. I took note as she set aside Madagascar and Kung Fu Panda but held onto Shrek. As she made her way through the pile, I noticed that a stray DVD had managed to find its way into the collection.

“Uh, wait, I think some of those might not be the right ones. Can I just- here, let me take-” I began, but it was too late. She had found perhaps the most embarrassing possession in the entire Mellark household. It wasn’t even mine; like most cringe-worthy items, it belonged to Rye. But that wouldn’t stop Katniss from ripping me a new one.

"Oh, this is priceless.” She was practically choking back tears of laughter as she held up the Twilight DVD, quite literally rubbing it in my face. “Are the Mellark men fans of sparkly vampires? Did I miss something?"

"It’s not what it looks like,” I started before losing myself to the comicality of the situation. I decided to take a different route. “Alright, make fun all you want, but you _know_ no mere mortal is immune to Robert Patinson's brooding."

That struck a chord with her and we both fell to pieces laughing over the absurdity of it all. Having a fiery debate over vampires versus werewolves was certainly not on my Valentine’s Day checklist, but that was the best part of being with Katniss: even when things didn’t go to plan, we usually found a way to make them even better.

"Would it be weird of me to say that I'm more of a Shrek girl?" she asked after we had settled a truce over the Team Edward vs. Team Jacob debacle. 

I took the disc from her and pushed it into the DVD player, grinning from ear to ear. "Beyond weird, actually, but I'm glad to know what your type is."

An hour and a half later and both my heart and stomach were fully satiated. By the time the credits rolled across the screen, Katniss and I had inched closer and closer until our bodies were essentially pressed up against one another.

I turned onto my side, facing her for the first time since the movie started and, yep, she was just as beautiful as the last time I checked, if not even more so. “I honestly forgot how good that movie is,” I chuckled.

She turned to meet my gaze, leaving us lying face to face. “Have I converted you to team Shrek?” she smirked.

“What can I say, I’m a believer,” I quipped as the Smash Mouth song of the same name blared through the tv speakers.

“You’re ridiculous,” Katniss laughed as she reached over and ran a hand through my hair, tugging on one of my curls. That might have been the first time she ever initiated contact, which I definitely took as a good sign. Following her lead, I placed my hand on the arm she had propped beneath her, rubbing my thumb back and forth across her skin.

“Yeah? In a good or bad way?”

“In a… ridiculous way.”

“I’ll take that.” I beamed down at her. We had managed to squeeze even closer together than before, nearly chest to chest. I knew what came next.

I took my time, tracing my fingers up her arm and around her shoulder, finding the nape of her neck. I splayed my hand out in her hair, pulling her ever so slightly. She moved toward me with ease.

Even though we had kissed a handful of times before, none of them compared to the way Katniss’s lips moved against mine that night. We had rushed through things on New Year’s Eve, barely taking a breath to savor the moment, and every kiss since then had been painfully brief and riddled with nerves.

But with that kiss, everything was different. I let myself cling to areas of her body I was normally too scared to explore, and in return, she allowed her lips to linger against mine long after she usually would have pulled away. I felt her tongue graze my mouth and sighed deep in my chest, suddenly in need of _more_ , for her to be _closer_.

Without breaking apart I shifted up slightly, guiding us both into a sitting position, and then lifted her into my lap. She swung her legs over my thighs and continued to kiss me hungrily, proving her appetite to be just as ravenous as mine.

“Peeta,” she panted into my ear. Her fingers began busying themselves at the hem of my shirt, drawing the material up my chest.

“Wait,” I mumbled against her lips, barely pulling away enough to form coherent words. “I need to tell you something first.”

But she shook her head, tugging me closer to her again. “Don’t say it,” she begged, tightening her grip on the front of my shirt as if she was attempting to anchor me in place.

“But I want to tell you. And I…” I paused, taking in her wide eyes. “And I want to hear it from you, too.”

The look in her eyes drifted from pleading to terrified. “I don’t know if I can,” she whimpered.

“You can, Katniss. Hell, we’ve been at this for almost two months now, I think it’s pretty obvious where our feelings toward each other lie!” I was growing frustrated. I didn’t mean to. Really, the _last_ thing I wanted was to lose my temper with her, but I’d been tiptoeing around the subject for weeks - was a little clarity really too much to ask for? I took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve wanted to tell you how much I care about you every day since New Year’s. Why can’t you do the same?”

“Because if I say it, then it’ll be real,” she blurted out. And, _ouch_ , that hurt. If there was any trace of remorse evident on her face I wouldn’t have known because I couldn’t even look her in the eyes after that.

“You don’t want this to be real?” I asked, wounded. I should have known better, should have known from the second she made it clear she was afraid of being seen in public with me that I’d only end up in pain. But there I stayed, thinking I could change a girl who had insisted on hating me for years. And what did it make me? Not just a fool, but a fool with a broken heart.

“It’s not that, Peeta, it’s just - if it’s real, then we’re more likely to get-”

“Hurt?” I interjected. She said nothing, sadness clouding her features. I found it hard to muster any sympathy. “I think it’s a little too late for that.”

Her expression hardened. I knew what was coming next, but I was still dreading it. Even after her admission that she had no intention of ever being serious with me I didn’t want her to leave. God, could I be any more pathetic?

“Wait.” I moved to grasp her elbow, but she had already begun to shuffle back out into the living room. I clumsily followed behind her on my hands and knees. In hindsight, the blanket fort definitely wasn’t optimal for trying to catch her in case things went sour. “Katniss, please, we can talk-”

“I don’t _want_ to talk, Peeta,” she hissed. “I think it’s pretty clear that nothing good comes from me talking.” She had already made it to the front door by the time I untangled myself from the fort of sheets, and I stood frozen as she tugged on her shoes.

“Where are you gonna go? It’s freezing outside, at least let me drive you.” She lived all the way on the other side of town, it would take her over an hour to get home on foot.

“I’d rather walk, thanks,” she seethed, hand already gripping the door handle.

In a final act of desperation, I called after her again, hoping she would listen to what I had wanted to tell her all along.

“Katniss, I’m-”

But it was too late. She was already out the door, leaving the rest of my sentence hanging in the air, never to be heard. _I’m in love with you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed some Valentine’s Day fluff and don’t hate me too much for that angsty cliffhanger!! My classes are starting up again next week so I’m not sure when the next update will be, but I promise things will be resolved in the next chapter! Just want to say a HUGE thanks to everyone for reading so far, hopefully I’ll have more for you soon!


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